Reunion
by The Book Thief
Summary: The journey back to Araluen: Will, Evanlyn, Horace and Halt head home. Set post-Icebound Land. Slight Will/Evanlyn.
1. Author's Note: Introduction

**Title:** Reunion

**Author:** The Book Thief

**Rating:** PG-13

**Summary:** A look at what could have happened after the events of _The Icebound Land_. The physical and emotional journeys of Will, Evanlyn, Horace and Halt.

**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters (except Paula) or places mentioned in this fic belong to me. Everything (except Paula) is the intellectual property of John Flanagan.

**Warnings:** Un-beta'd. Cliché. Cheese.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (of doom): **

Finally. It's done.

I started this fic back in the summer of grade 10. I'm now in first year university. I'll let that speak for itself. Basically what happened was this: bored over the endless expanse of summer vacation, and away from any place with internet, I yearned for something to read: a story I could really sink my teeth into. Lo and behold, my brother presented me with the _Ranger's Apprentice_ series. At the time, the fourth book wasn't available in Canada, but after the ending of _The Icebound Land_, I couldn't simply let things lie. Thus, this fic was born. I worked on it for a few days, and then, in that mindless way of youngsters everywhere, forgot about it for more than a year. The next summer, I was leafing through my old notebooks when I came across it again. I was still intrigued by the idea, so I worked on it some more, and summarily dropped it when school started up in September. Things continued in this vein until, panicked, I realized I had one week left before I left for university. I resolved to finish this before I left, knowing that if I didn't finish it then, I'd never do it.

I wrote the last word at 11:51pm, the night before I left. Clocking in at over twenty-seven thousand words, this is the longest _anything_ I've ever written, and I'm ridiculously proud of it. However, it is unbeta'd and rough in some places; I'm posting it as a reminder to myself of what I can do if I put my mind to it. (And the cliché-mobile comes in… right about now.) I would greatly appreciate any feedback you have, regarding any aspect of the fic.

And now, if I haven't scared you away with that hedonistic author's note of doom… I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :-)


	2. Chapter 1

Darkness.

Complete and total darkness surrounded him – wait! There, overhead, a pinprick of light. Will swam towards it. He had to wake up. Surely it was past dawn – Halt would be furious. He had to get up, that was all he knew. _Wake up, Will. Wake up._

He woke slowly, blinking in the bright light of his surroundings. When his vision cleared, he saw that he was in a small cabin where the sun shone through an unglazed window to light on the hard wooden floor upon which he sat. Groggily, Will wondered what had possessed him to fall asleep whilst sitting on the floor. He looked down and saw there was a small hunting bow nestled in his lap. Will frowned. Where was his recurve bow? Surely this one wasn't his; it was suited for small game and nothing more.

He looked warily around the cabin, taking in the lone bunk and two chairs that made up the only furniture in the room. Where was he? He didn't remember coming here. Will racked his memory for some clue as to what had happened. He couldn't suppress a shudder as events came back to him: capture of himself and Evanlyn by the Skandians at Morgarath's bridge; the perilous voyage across the Stormwhite Sea as prisoners on Jarl Erak's wolfship; sheltering at Skorghijl; the final trip onwards to the Skandian capital Hallasholm… and then, nothing.

Try as he might, Will could remember nothing about Hallasholm. Had they even reached the capital? Surely he would remember. Was he there at this very moment? Evanlyn would know the answer.

But where was she?

Will clambered clumsily to his feet. He was alone in the cabin. A jolt of panic ripped through him. Had they been separated? He fought down a wave of rising dread as he wondered what had happened to her. Had he betrayed her? The thought hit him like a blow to the stomach. He could never live with himself if he had failed her.

And then, as if his thoughts had summoned her, the door to the cabin was flung back on its hinges and there she was, the crown princess of Araluen, dressed in ragged tunic and leggings, hair shorn, tangled and wild, and as beautiful as he had ever known her to be.

He stepped forward, relief turning his knees to jelly.

"Evanlyn," he said. "Thank God you're safe!"

But instead of returning his greeting, Evanlyn stood stock-still and stared at him. Her eyes shone with tears and her shoulders shook uncontrollably.

Will hesitated. "Evanlyn, what's –"

He never got to finish, however, because next thing he knew, she flung herself at him, wrapping him in an embrace, sobbing desperately. Will was baffled, but couldn't stop himself hugging her back fiercely.

They broke apart at last, and Evanlyn swiped at her eyes. Will regarded her curiously as they sat down in the rough-hewn chairs. "Evanlyn, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Y-you-you're back! Will, you're back! It t-t-took weeks and w-weeks… you're back!" Evanlyn's voice shook. Tears continued to trail down her cheeks.

Will was now truly confused. "I know. You said that already. Where was I? Evanlyn, what's going on?" Then, something occurred to him. He licked his lips. "Why can't I remember anything?"

She peered owlishly at him. "You mean you don't remember anything? Anything at all? But do – do you remember who you are? And where we are? And how we got here?"

Will interrupted her. "Yes, yes, I know all of that, of course. I'm Will, I'm apprenticed to the Ranger Halt, and you're Evanlyn aka Princess Cassandra of the realm Araluen. I remember being captured by the Skandians while Araluen was under siege, and being taken to Skorghijl. But then we got to the Skandian capital, Hallasholm and – and…" he trailed off, waving his hands vaguely as if that would somehow help him remember. "And then nothing," he finished lamely.

"Well," Evanlyn began, swallowing nervously, "when the Skandians took us to Hallasholm, we were… we were separated and used as slaves. I was assigned to the kitchens, and you got – you got yard work."

That made sense. Will nodded his understanding. "Okay," he said. "Then what?"

"Will, you have to understand, I would have done something sooner, I swear, but I only saw you once; I had no idea what was going on until Jarl Erak told me!" Evanlyn burst out.

Now, Will was truly confused. "Wait, what? Where does Jarl Erak come into this?" He remembered the large Skandian warrior who had taken them captive back in Araluen, many weeks before.

Evanlyn hesitated before answering. She knew that for Will, the news of his recently conquered addiction to warmweed would come as a nasty shock. He'll never forgive himself, she thought. What's happened goes against all of his training. For a moment, she entertained the idea of lying to him. But then she looked into his brown eyes and saw the spark of curiosity burning in them once again. Forget it, she told herself. I did not drag him all the way up here to lie to him That's not what friends do.

Evanlyn steeled herself. "I didn't know what was going on until Jarl Erak summoned me to his quarters," she admitted. "That's when he told me that I had to get you out of there."

Will opened his mouth to interrupt but Evanlyn pressed on. "He told me that you were in danger because of a drug – a narcotic called warmweed." Evanlyn paused for breath. Will said nothing, only sat there with a sinking feeling building in his stomach, dreading what he knew was inevitable.

"As Erak was preparing our escape – yes, he helped us," she added at the surprise scrawled on Will's features, "I snuck into the yard to check on you… and it was horrible, Will!" she burst out. "It was like you were just a shell. You didn't talk. You didn't even recognize me. It was like you didn't care about anything but the drug."

During Evanlyn's speech, Will had remained silent, frozen in place, trying to absorb what she was telling him. But at the mention of warmweed, something had clicked into place – not that that was necessarily a good thing. "That's because I didn't," he said quietly.

When Evanlyn said nothing, he continued. "I didn't care about anything else. I remember Handel – another slave, named Handel. I was just in from the paddles and someone had taken my blanket. It was cold, so cold." Will shivered at the memory, but forced himself to keep talking. "I was so cold and a slave named Handel came up to me and gave me some warmweed. Of course, I had no idea what it was and I thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world." He laughed, but the sound was hollow and joyless.

After a moment's silence, Evanlyn spoke in a small voice. "Uhm. Yes, so Jarl Erak told me the plan, and then I got you out of the barracks and we eventually came here. It's some sort of hunter's hut that was probably built for use during the spring. Jarl Erak said that the hunters would come up here when the thaw starts, so we need to leave before then… But that's – that's weeks away, and we have plenty of time!" She backpedaled hastily, not wanting to add more stress to the heavy load Will already bore.

Will nodded absently, not really processing the information. He could only focus on the words that ran through his mind over and over again. _Addict, addict, you're an addict! You didn't care about anything but the drug!_ Will couldn't believe it. _How could I have been so stupid?_ He berated himself angrily. Halt would kill him! Then, a new and far more sinister thought struck him. When the Ranger Commandant Crowley heard about this, Will would be expelled from the Corps. for sure! He felt light-headed.

"Look, Will, I know that strictly speaking what's happened to you – the drugs and everything – might be grounds for expulsion from the Corps., but once we get back to Araluen, I'm sure I can convince my father to make an exception," Evanlyn said, almost reading Will's mind.

"Or," she continued, "we don't even have to tell anyone. It wasn't your fault anyway, and –"

Will cut her off with surprising force. "No. No, Evanlyn, I can't lie to Halt. I can't. Not after all he's done for me."

If he's really done so much for you, how come he hasn't come to rescue us yet? Evanlyn wondered but didn't say aloud. The journey from Araluen to Skandia shouldn't take this long, not even by land. Instead, sensing that Will needed a distraction, she said "Alright. We can cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, I don't know about you, but I'm starving, and this is dinner." She revealed the rabbit she had hunted so successfully with a flourish.

Will looked at her askance. "How did you catch that?" he asked, still trying to adjust to his newfound awareness.

"Oh," Evanlyn blinked. "Well, I thought that having stringy vegetables and cornmeal every day was getting boring, so I tried to use the bow to go hunting," she said sheepishly.

"It, um, it didn't go as well as I had planned, to say the least. So after a few unsuccessful attempts with the bow, I built myself a sling and that worked out much better. I used to play with slings when my cousins were around and…" Evanlyn broke off as she realized she was babbling and looked up to find Will staring at her with a strange look on his face.

"Evanlyn," he breathed, "you're incredible. You did all that and you saved my life. Thank you so much."

Will knew mere words could not express his gratitude towards Evanlyn but he figured he might was well try.

For her part, Evanlyn smiled warmly at him, although she was at a loss for words. Being a princess had prepared her for many things, from how to properly greet a duke to the proper way to cross one's legs underneath a table at a royal banquet. Unfortunately, none of her training had dealt with what to say in this particular circumstance. Or how to deal with that funny feeling she got in her chest whenever Will smiled at her. Evanlyn really hoped she wasn't blushing.

* * *

The sun rose on a narrow dirt track amidst acres of lush and tangled vegetation. A cool breeze blew from the west, bringing with it the distinctive tang of the sea. Large, fluffy clouds scudded slowly across the sky. It looked to be another perfect day for the two travelers winding their way along the path. Unfortunately, judging by the scowl on the first man's face and the silence in which they rode, neither one seemed to think so.

They had been travelling for what felt like ages. In all their days on the road, the weather had not changed. The forest scenery around them had not changed. No other traveler had passed them. Horace Altman, an apprentice warrior and Halt's companion for the journey, was starting to think they were going in circles.

Halt was angry. Not that this was an unusual occurrence of late (having one's beloved apprentice kidnapped by malicious warriors does tend to put a damper on things), but right now the anger was rather more pronounced.

It's not as if his anger is unfounded, after all, mused Horace. Will's kidnapping had taken a great toll on everyone who knew him.

Thanks to Halt's (admittedly somewhat eccentric) grasp of the Gallic language, they had been making their slow way through the country of Gallica, following overgrown hunters' paths and brambly shepherds' trails. Since their escape from Chateau Montsombre, Halt was leery of travelling on main roads, though he knew their detours would add at least a week to their already interminably long journey. And who knew what could happen to Will in that time?

He urged his horse, Abelard, on faster.


	3. Chapter 2

* * *

Will was having a bad day. He had gone out to practice with the small hunting bow in the hopes of finding dinner (being careful to keep an eye out for the mysterious rider Evanlyn had seen earlier), but he was so tired he could hardly draw the bow properly. The last two nights had not been the least bit restful. Will was loathe to admit this to Evanlyn, but whenever he even thought about going to sleep he was reminded of the warmweed and how his addiction had seemed to be nothing more than a dream. He was terrified of waking up one day and finding himself back in the slave barracks of Hallasholm, alone and defenseless against the bitter, insidious cold. Not to mention that when he finally passed out from sheer exhaustion, he was plagued by awful nightmares – Morgarath bearing down on him, the Skandians cursing and yelling as they shoved him aboard the wolfships, Evanlyn was calling for him but he couldn't find her, no, no! – which only served to haunt him further. And of course, the ever-present sense of shame and self-loathing that he wore like a cloak did little to help matters. Even though Evanlyn was doing her best to reassure him that everything would work out, it was futile. He knew that once word of what had happened got to Crowley or King Duncan, he would be expelled from the Ranger Corps. He would lose everything he had worked so hard for over the last year. _Worst of all,_ he thought glumly, _Halt will never forgive me_.

Will felt sick.

* * *

Evanlyn sighed. For the last few days – ever since he had woken up from the warmweed, in fact – Will had seemed so… miserable. Like he's got nothing left to live for, she thought glumly. She had tried repeatedly to cheer him up, but all in vain. However, if there was one thing Evanlyn was, it was determined and right now she was determined to get Will to brighten up. Or at least, she amended, to tell her why he was so depressed all the time.

Her train of thought was cut off as the door opened. Evanlyn whirled around to see Will entering the hut. She immediately rushed to greet him, taking in his pale face and the gaunt shadows underneath his eyes. He looked like he was about to collapse.

"Will!" she cried as she approached him, "I'm so glad you're back. It was getting dark out and I was starting to worry… Are you alright?"

Evanlyn frowned. Will was swaying where he stood. Sighing, she took his elbow and led him to a chair.

"Sit," she said briskly. "I'll go make dinner."

She went to fetch their meager stores of food and didn't mention that it was technically his turn to cook.

The atmosphere in the cabin was considerably lighter after a relatively filling dinner of rabbit meat and cornmeal. Now, Will and Evanlyn were settling down in their bedrolls and preparing to go to sleep.

Too bad sleep was taking its own sweet time in coming.

Evanlyn had lain in her bedroll for what felt like hours, listening to Will tossing and turning beside her. She wondered why he was still awake now; he had seemed asleep on his feet at dinner. At last, after an interminable amount of time had passed, and judging by his restless movements that Will was as sleepless as she, Evanlyn sat up.

"Will," she whispered hoarsely, voice small in the cabin's looming dark, "are you awake?"

Slowly, Will rolled over to face her, though it was hard to see anything in the shadows. "Yes," he admitted. "I can't – I don't want to go to sleep."

Something in his voice piqued Evanlyn's curiosity. "Why?"

Will hesitated before answering. "Because… well, it's silly really. It's because the warmweed – when I was taking the warmweed, it was as if I was sleeping all the time. I knew nothing about anything going on around me, or even whether it was day or night. And when I woke up, I was in a completely different place with no idea what had happened or how I'd gotten there. My mind was all muddled and I didn't know what was real and what wasn't. So… so what if I go to sleep only to wake up and find out that you – that this is all a dream?"

In the dim light cast by the moon and the embers from the fire, Will looked like a little boy: lost, scared and alone. Quietly, Evanlyn got up and dragged her bedroll closer to where he lay. Lying down again, she reached out and touched his hand briefly.

"Don't worry, Will. I'm not a dream."

* * *

Astride his battle horse Kicker, Horace shifted in his saddle. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling his muscles tense, then relax. Chainmail was all very well in combat, he thought, but it was definitely not made for hours spent in the saddle. Bored, he looked around, taking in the incessant emptiness of the land around him. It felt as if the tree-lined path they rode on was shut off from the rest of the world, existing in its own bubble.

"Why is it so deserted?" he asked, the question tumbling unbidden from his lips. "I know we must be near the Teutlandt border but it's just so… empty."

The taciturn Ranger opened his mouth but never got a chance to reply, for in that moment a group of bandits sprung out of the trees, shouting violently in Gallic. They were a ragtag bunch, Horace saw, dressed in a motley assortment of luxurious garments that were much the worse for wear. The bald man who looked to be their leader sported a tarnished brocade tunic, and brandished a small battleaxe in each hand. His partners were similarly dressed and the sunlight filtering through the leaves lit upon clubs and swords, which, for all their tarnish, would still have no problem fulfilling their intended purpose. For a moment, there was a surprised silence as the bandits realized they had completely failed to cow their prey. Off to the side, Horace saw a small smile flicker darkly across Halt's face. He noticed that the Ranger's bow had been ready in his hands for many minutes before the bandits had appeared, and wondered for an instant if Halt hadn't known this was coming. Then, Halt started speaking, and Horace had no time to wonder.

"Attention mes seigneurs!" he called to the bandits. Stunned by his calm demeanour, the men unwittingly paid heed. "Je vous donnerai un chance pour arreter avant le numero trois!"

The bandits – about seven in all, tall and muscled men – looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

"Eh bien, le p'tit m'sieur pense qu'il faut avoir peur de lui!"

Horace was less amused. He nudged Kicker closer to Halt's Abelard. "Halt," he said, trying to be heard over the raucous laughter, "what's going on? What did you tell them?"

"Simple," Halt responded grimly. "If they're not gone by the count of three, they'll be sorry."

And so saying, he held up one gloved hand and began to count. "Un… deux… trois!"

An arrow flew through the air and hit a bandit squarely in the chest. The bandits' gloating was cut off abruptly. The puny rider had fired faster than they thought possible! Roaring, they charged toward Halt and Horace.

Horace's sword was already sailing clear of its scabbard. He saw the bandits bearing down on him and instinct took over. He swung his sword round and brought it down hilt first on the head of a bandit. The man dropped like a stone and Horace wheeled to face his next attacker.

Meanwhile, three other bandits were charging Halt, but it was obvious from their slight hesitance and unwieldy posture that they were little more than amateurs. Halt dispatched them with such unerring speed and accuracy that Horace almost pitied them. Then, he thought about how this fighting was taking up time he could be using to search for Will and any trace of compassion he might have felt was instantly dispelled. Horace watched with dark satisfaction as the first man was propelled through the air by a knife before he could raise his sword, and the remaining two were caught by Abelard as the horse lashed out with his hooves, sending the men soaring headlong into the trees.

Now, only two bandits remained. Horace ran one through with his sword, hardly thinking. Seeing his partner so easily dispatched, the other bandit turned to flee. Unfortunately, his escape was cut short when Halt dismounted and seized him by the collar before he could take a step.

"Halt," said Horace uncertainly, "what are you doing?"

The bandit was gibbering in fear, subjected to the full brunt of Halt's ruthless gaze. Horace noticed Halt's free hand was clenched into a fist.

"Let this be a lesson to you and your kind," the Ranger growled in a tone Horace hoped never to hear again. "Don't waste my time."

Without warning, Halt drew back his fist and punched the bandit full in the face. Hard. The man's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Halt shook out his hand, his eyes revealing nothing.

"Let's go."


	4. Chapter 3

Will awoke slowly, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the cabin's unglazed window. He rolled over and yawned contentedly. That had been the best sleep he'd had in what felt like years. Sitting up, he glanced at his surroundings, gaze circling the room until he lit on Evanlyn's sleeping form.

Even with her hair shorn off, he mused, she really was quite beautiful. Her eyes, now closed, were framed by long, elegant lashes. Her lips were chapped but full and her smile, Will remembered, was radiant. But what drew Will to her, even more than her beauty was… her. From what he had seen, Evanlyn was brave, resourceful and determined. Her lashes fluttered as she turned over in her sleep and Will remembered how she had insisted on tracking the Wargals to the bridge, even though she had already been terrified of them; how she had raced back across the bridge to help him, even though by doing so she had placed herself in mortal peril. And she had saved him from the warmweed – she had saved his life. Thinking about this, Will was overcome by gratitude for her.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered. The sound of his own voice startled him and he blushed, realizing he had just spoken out loud. Casting a quick glance at Evanlyn to make sure she was still sleeping, Will got to his feet, grabbed the small sack they used for game, and slipped silently out of the cabin.

The minute the door was closed, Evanlyn sat bolt upright in bed. In truth, she had woken up right after Will, but had thought it prudent to feign sleep as he seemed to be concentrating hard on something. Then, he had whispered those words, apparently unaware that she had been listening. She wondered if he even knew he'd spoken out loud. Evanlyn was equal parts elated and confused. One part of her wondered what exactly Will had meant by the admission, while another part of her was too busy jumping in joy to care. Smiling to herself, Evanlyn got up and started to prepare breakfast.

* * *

Outside, Will looked around as he checked the last snare in the line. Empty, just like all the rest. His heart sank as he thought of another scant meal at the cabin. It was hard enough to keep their food supplies from running low in good times; now, small animals had become wary of the snares he and Evanlyn had set, and game was scarce. With a small sigh, Will began his slow journey back to the cabin.

There was a lot less snow on the ground than there had been even days previously, and the surrounding trees were starting to look greener and more vibrant. Dimly, he could hear birds calling to each other in the distance. He would have to inform Evanlyn that the spring thaw was almost upon them and that it was time to leave. That was a harrowing thought. Dispirited, Will made his way through the melting snow. The weeks spent in the throes of the warmweed had taken their toll, on his strength, however, and he had to stop to lean against the door to the makeshift stable to catch his breath.

The stable's sole occupant – the pony Jarl Erak had supplied – regarded Will with a baleful brown eye. For an instant, Will was reminded of Tug – but he forced that thought away. He could worry about Tug once they returned home to Araluen. Home… a sense of loss overwhelmed him until he almost couldn't breathe. How long had it been since he'd been home? How long had it been since he'd seen his friends? His throat felt tight as he thought about everyone he'd left behind in Araluen, without so much as a goodbye. Jenny and George; Alyss and Horace; Gilan and Halt… His chest ached with longing; he wished his mentor were here to tell him what to do, to reassure him that things would be alright.

Will was startled to find tears trickling down his cheeks. He sniffed, scrubbing at his face with his shirtsleeve. Resolutely, he pulled himself together and trudged back to the cabin. If he ever wanted to see Araluen again, then he and Evanlyn had some planning to do.

"Morning, Will," Evanlyn – there was no other word for it – chirped as he walked through the door. "Did you catch anything?"

She seems cheerful today, Will thought, but immediately forced himself to focus on the topic at hand. "No. I didn't. But listen, Evanlyn, the spring thaw's coming and the snow's melting, which means the hunters won't be far behind. We need to leave soon."

At Will's mention of hunters, Evanlyn felt a momentary jolt of fear as the image of the dangerous man on horseback flashed through her mind. "Or the rider," she said, before she could stop herself.

Will shot her a sharp glance. "What rider?"

Evanlyn marshaled her thoughts before telling him of the fur-clad man she had seen in the forest. Will frowned thoughtfully. "Halt mentioned a people called the Temujai, who live in the Eastern Steppes. They're nomadic – or they were, before they were united by their General Haz'Kam – and very fierce warriors. We're close enough to the Steppes that he could have been one of them."

"But what would they be doing in Skandia?"

Will's brow wrinkled in thought. "I have no idea," he admitted. "But that man might have been a scout for a raiding party."

Evanlyn shivered at the memory of the man's cold eyes. "As if we needed more encouragement to leave. But we should at least know where we're going first, so we don't end up as Skandian property again – or worse. I have a vague idea of where we are, but this would be so much easier if we had a map…"

"Of course," Will agreed, standing. "I'll be right back."

He stepped outside only to return a few moments later with a short, supple stick, which he rubbed liberally into the embers of the fire. He gestured for Evanlyn to pass him a spare plank of wood, which she did, curiosity plain on her face.

Will took the plank and started drawing on it, using the charcoal-coated stick to plot out the contours of mountains and countries.

"I think we're somewhere… here," he stated, pointing at a spot in the middle of a mountain range marking the border of Skandia and Teutlandt.

"Hmm," Evanlyn peered over his shoulder, "that looks about right. The Teutlandt border should be about here," she sketched a line just south of Will's estimation of their cabin, "so assuming we travel only on land, we can travel through Teutlandt and into Gallica. Then, it's just a boat ride across the Narrow Sea and… we're home."

She breathed the last words reverently, her green eyes luminous with hope. Will smiled at her, unable to help himself.

"And if we stick to the seaside when we get to Teutlandt, there's no way we can go wrong," he said.

Evanlyn grinned. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get to work."

* * *

Horace sighed quietly. He and Halt had been travelling for what felt like forever. Halt's increasingly dark mood cast a pall over what might've been a companionable silence. Horace sighed again. They were halfway to Teutlandt and Halt was still scowling. Privately, Horace thought his face might freeze like that. If it hadn't already.

Bored, Horace looked around. Inside, he was bursting with questions to ask Halt, but one look at the Ranger's forbidding face told him it would be best to keep quiet. Not for the first time, Horace wished desperately that Will were here. Will, with his sense of humour and his open, easy laugh and his boundless curiosity. Maybe then Halt wouldn't be so disagreeable all the time.

And Evanlyn too, Horace mused. Thinking back on that strange, waif-like girl, Horace wondered if she had been telling them the whole truth about herself. Of course, she could well have been a lady's maid, but the strange hesitations in her speech and her advanced knowledge of the Ranger Corps all pointed to something entirely different.

"I wonder who she is?" Horace asked, not really expecting an answer.

Halt glanced up in some surprise. In truth, he had been hoping to avoid conversation today but Horace clearly didn't feel the same.

"Who whom is?" he asked gruffly, though he felt he should already know the answer.

"Evanlyn," Horace replied calmly. "The girl we were travelling with. She… she got captured along with Will, but we travelled with her when we were tracking the Wargals. I just… don't know. Whenever she talked about herself, she always hesitated before she answered – even when we asked her name! And she seemed to have a pretty good grasp of politics for a maid…."

Horace trailed off thoughtfully. Halt glanced sharply at him. He trusted Horace had asked the question purely out of curiosity, but was it a good idea to trust him with the information? At last, Halt reached a decision. Horace was risking his life by accompanying him on this mission; he deserved to know what he was in for.

"She was trustworthy," Halt began slowly. "She was just trying to protect herself."

"Well that plan didn't work out very well, did it? She was captured anyway when she ran across the bridge to help Will," Horace pointed out.

"That is certainly a problem," Halt admitted. "Especially considering your Evanlyn in actually Princess Cassandra of Araluen, King Duncan's only child and heir to the throne."

Horace flushed. "She's not _my_ Evanlyn – wait. What? Princess Cassandra? Really?"

"You do realize that no one else can ever learn about this?" Halt said, trying to get Horace to see the gravity of the situation. "If the Skandians ever knew they had captured the Princess of Araluen… let's just say things wouldn't be pleasant."

"Couldn't they hold her for ransom?" The ransoming of nobility was common in times of war.

"They could do that," Halt agreed. "And during the approximate two years it would take to negotiate terms, the Skandians could decide they're in need of some inside information on Araluen. And what methods do you think they would use to obtain that information?"

Horace sucked in a sharp breath. "They – they wouldn't torture her, would they? They can't – I mean, that's illegal!"

Then he reached the possibility that Halt had been dreading all along. "What about Will? He's a Ranger. What if they tor-"

Halt cut him off sharply. His voice was low and deadly, tinged with an emotion Horace would eventually come to recognize as desperation. "Don't."

"Sorry," Horace said, immediately falling silent. Looking sideways at the Ranger then, Horace realized that despite his gruff, uncaring exterior, Halt felt Will's absence more than he let on. He really does care, Horace mused; and in that moment, he felt very sorry for the Skandians indeed.


	5. Chapter 4

Will smiled. He felt better than he had in ages, and he attributed this to the fact that he and Evanlyn were once more on the move – but this time with a far better destination in mind.

"Araluen!" Evanlyn exclaimed happily beside him. "Will, I can't believe we're finally going home."

Seeing Evanlyn's happiness, Will refrained from reminding her of the weeks – if not months – it would take to reach Araluen.

"I reckon it should take us just over a week to reach Teutlandt if we hurry," he said instead. Visions of hot baths, proper food and warm beds danced tantalizingly in his mind's eye. Will shook his head. They had no money to pay for lodging and even if they had, their main concern at the moment was to survive the harsh conditions of the Skandian Mountains.

In the days before they'd left the cabin, Will and Evanlyn had tried to pack as much food and as many supplies as they could carry, but they were still limited to the bare essentials and Will was far from being reassured. The knife he carried would not be very useful in any kind of pitched battle. The sling and small bow that served as their two main weapons were only good for hunting and would do minimal damage in combat, even at relatively close quarters. So far, their luck had held; they had muffled the pack pony's hooves and cleared the area around the cabin when they left, but it was only their second day travelling, and who knew what could befall them before they cleared the mountains?

Still, with Evanlyn cheerful and jubilant beside him, it was hard for Will to worry for very long.

That night, however, put a damper on any happy thoughts Will had. Though the daytime temperatures were almost unseasonably warm, at night the temperature tended to drop like a stone. Will shivered in his bedroll and wished, not for the first time, that they could have started a fire. But a fire would mean smoke, which would increase their chances of being tracked by unfriendly eyes. Curling in on himself to conserve warmth, Will blew out a shaky breath and attempted to fall asleep, to no avail. He was absolutely exhausted – more tired than he could ever remember being in his life – but still sleep eluded him. Instead, his mind filled with doubts and self-admonishments. He was still weak from the long weeks spent in the grip of the warmweed, and still guilt-ridden from the equally long weeks spent recovering when they could have been on the move. Even though Evanlyn was always patient with him as they walked, Will still felt useless and burdensome whenever they stopped so he could rest. Logically, he knew the frequent stops were important, but in the chill, dark night, logic held little sway. Will lost track of time as he slipped into a troubled, restless sleep. It came almost as a relief when Evanlyn shook him gently awake from his turn on watch.

The next few days passed in much the same way. Scant meals consisted of beans, cornmeal, and whatever small game they could scare up. They tracked south through the mountains, following Will's almost unerring sense of direction. Signs of spring were all around them: birds chirped merrily in the trees, squirrels and other small game darted through the bushes. However, not all the signs were welcome. The snow – still knee-deep in places – was wet and soft, sucking at their boots with each step. It froze during the nights too, making the forested path slippery and treacherous. These conditions impeded their progress even further and frustrated Will to no end; and though he never said as much, Evanlyn could tell.

Glancing sideways at him as they walked, Evanlyn was equal parts relieved and worried about what she saw. Will was making a good, if slow, recovery from the warmweed, though she could tell he was upset by his own weakness. Evanlyn didn't blame him; ever since her entourage had been ambushed by Wargals in Celtica, she knew all too well how it felt to be helpless and unable to do anything about it. But her main concern was that Will still seemed to be having trouble sleeping. She consistently heard him tossing and turning during the night, and sometimes during her watch, she would hear him mumble words like "home", "Halt" and "sorry". Once, he had whispered her name and Evanlyn had smiled at him even though he couldn't see her. Now, Will looked over and caught Evanlyn staring at him. Jerking herself back to the present, she smiled at him, taking in his pale face and the smudges beneath his eyes, and tried not to let her worry show. Will smiled back at her. It was a small smile, but it reached his eyes and that was all Evanlyn needed.

They continued walking in a companionable silence, until Will stopped and raised his head abruptly, indicating that Evanlyn should follow his gaze. She did so, and was not pleased to see a dark mass of storm clouds off to the south.

"That storm will probably be here in a couple of days if the wind keeps up," said Will.

Evanlyn swallowed and asked, "How long till we're out of the mountains?"

Looking balefully at the murky clouds, Will replied, "Maybe three, four days if we hurry."

The wind blew harder, as if to spite them. Evanlyn shivered. "Let's hurry."

* * *

Many kilometers away, and unbeknownst to Will and Evanlyn, Halt and Horace were thinking much the same thing.

"That storm will be here any day now," Halt muttered, glaring at the stormclouds to the west as if they had personally offended him. "We should find shelter soon."

Horace knew how much it pained him to say those words, since every day they stopped was a day they could have spent searching for Will and Evanlyn. Nevertheless, he agreed with Halt's suggestion. If the wind kept up – and it looked to all intents and purposes like it would – then the storm would most certainly hit them and slow their progress considerably anyway.

"Alright," he agreed, nudging Kicker to keep pace with Halt and Abelard.

They rode for the rest of the day on the outskirts of small villages, looking for a place to take shelter from the coming storm. By sundown, the clouds were just a large black mass on the horizon.

"Maybe it'll pass us over?" Horace suggested hopefully.

Halt shook his head at the undying optimism of youth. "Not a chance," he said grimly. "So unless sleeping in a lake is your idea of a good time, we need to find shelter, fast. The storm will be on us by nightfall."

They rode for a few more minutes in silence, with Horace craning his neck every so often to peer anxiously at the threatening sky. At last, they came within sight of a small building with cheerily lit windows and a sloping thatched roof. The sign above the door proclaimed it to be an inn (though Horace had to take Halt's word for it, since he didn't speak Teuton). Once they reached the inn, the two travelers dismounted and led their horses to the rickety stables around back. Horses seen to, Horace followed Halt inside and stood around awkwardly in the common dining area while Halt proceeded to inquire about rooms.

They were in luck, as it turned out. The innkeeper was a short, stout woman with graying blonde hair and a no-nonsense attitude. Her name, Horace later learned, was Paüla. At any rate, she took one look at him and Halt, tired and bedraggled as they were, and immediately started scolding them and ushering them up a rickety flight of stairs to their respective rooms. At first, Horace was quite alarmed, but it must have showed on his face because her expression softened and she attempted to speak Araluen, though her grasp of the language was not exactly powerful.

"You are waiting," she said, "und I go to get _trokchentoke_."

Horace just stood and nodded mutely until she left. Then he turned frantically to Halt, who was standing silently in the corner. "What did that mean?"

At his panicked expression, the Ranger simply shrugged and replied, "Better you than me."

Horace opened his mouth to demand an explanation when Paüla entered the room again. _Trokchentoke_, as it turned out, were towels – thick fluffy ones that Horace hadn't seen since he left Araluen. Paüla set them down on the bed and pointed him towards a small antechamber off to his right. Upon closer inspection, Horace saw it to be a small washing room with a soapstand and a basin of water.

"Oh," he said, understanding, "you want me to –"

But he was cut off by Paüla's perfunctory nod as she grabbed Halt by the arm and propelled him out the door, presumably to his own room and the same treatment. Horace chuckled to himself at the thought of Halt being mothered by anyone, least of all Paüla, who looked as though strong winds were enemies to be reckoned with. His chuckles turned into a sigh of contentment as he reveled in the luxury of a long-awaited bath. He soaked there until the water was lukewarm, and then toweled himself off briskly. He changed into his sleepwear and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	6. Chapter 5

The storm hit faster and harder than Will had predicted. He jerked awake to the sound of thunder and a torrent of rain. But something was wrong. There was an odd weight on his chest – something sharp was digging into his throat –

"WILL!" Evanlyn shrieked, flailing for her sling in the dark, "LOOK OUT!"

The Temujai warrior from the cabin stood poised over Will, the point of his sword raised to strike. Will gasped and rolled away, kicking out with his legs as he did so. The Temujai was not impressed and gave a guttural roar as he brought the sword down where Will had been not a moment before. The man turned and stalked towards him, forcing Will to crabwalk backwards among the rocks, trying vainly to think of a way out.

Meanwhile, Evanlyn had found her sling and a heavy rock glanced off the back of the man's flat-toped fur hat. He faltered, dazed, and that moment of hesitation was just enough for Will to kick the sword out of his grasp. But the Temujai recovered quickly. He threw his hat off and leapt for the sword just as Will leapt for him, knife in hand, and they went down in a tangle of legs and fur.

Will grunted as he landed on top of the warrior, purposefully digging his elbow into the other man's stomach, though it didn't have much impact through the tough clothes the man wore.

"Evanlyn, grab his legs!" Will yelled as he fought to keep the man's fingers clear of his throat. The rain poured down in sheets, driving into Will's eyes and making him gasp. He could barely see, but the way the man was jackknifing his body made Will think that Evanlyn had succeeded.

But the Temujai was strong – much stronger than Will in his weakened state – and his fingers closed around the boy's throat.

"Ghurk," said Will as the Temujai started squeezing. He clawed desperately at the man's hands, trying to free himself, but to no avail. The Temujai growled as he tightened his grip, and Will's vision started to fade. Choking, he flailed uselessly, panicking, feeling the breath leave his body. It was becoming harder to think. His head felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed with cotton. Things seemed to move very slowly. From a great distance, he felt his hand brush something on the ground. With fingers as heavy as lead, his vision grey and almost completely gone, Will clenched the rock in his hand and brought it down on the Temujai's head. The grip on his throat didn't weaken, but Will did it again and again, adrenaline spiking erratically through his veins like the lightning that streaked the sky above. He couldn't see – could barely breathe – but he just kept hammering, not even thinking anymore. The grip on his throat began to slacken; the rock was sticky and wet with something that wasn't rain, but Will took no notice. His breath thundered in his ears as he hit the Temujai again. A gurgle escaped from the man's throat, and Will looked up into his dark eyes, matching the colour of the sky in the stormy night. The man's hands dropped to the ground; his face went slack, and Will saw something flicker and die in his eyes. With a final shaky exhalation, the man went limp beneath him and moved no more.

Shaking and coughing, Will pulled back and rolled off the body. He felt rather than saw Evanlyn drag herself up beside him.

"Will?" she breathed, "Are you – is he…"

She didn't have to finish. "Yes," said Will. "He is."

Saying it seemed to make it final. "Oh, God," Will breathed, hardly able to believe what he'd done, "Evanlyn, he's – he's –"

He broke off, unable to finish, and turned away, retching violently into the bushes. He had killed another human being. For once, he was glad of the rain and the darkness. It meant he didn't have to look at his hands. But even after he'd purged his stomach and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, he could still feel the blood there, sticky and damning.

Evanlyn crawled over to where he sat, soaked and shivering. "Will," she said urgently, "don't think about it right now. We have to move."

Will nodded. He forced himself to stand. He felt numb. "We need to move him."

Evanlyn looked as though she might cry, but she nodded. Together, they hoisted the body out of sight, behind a pile of rocks. Silently, they packed up the remains of their camp and hitched their baggage onto Jarl Erak's pony. They set off at a stumbling jog down the mountainside, into the yawning darkness.

The storm raged on.


	7. Chapter 6

The storm raged on and Halt raged with it. He crossed to the window again, and sure enough, it was still raining.

Kind of like it had been for the last twelve hours, Horace thought, though he kept his commentary to himself. It was clear that being cooped up like this was taking a toll on Halt. The normally taciturn Ranger hadn't spoken a word all day, responding to Horace's attempts at conversation with grunts or shrugs, if at all. And when Paüla had come into the room to ask if they wanted breakfast, Halt had snarled a _No! _at her and all but thrown her out of the room. Later, Horace had gone down to apologize for Halt's behaviour and beg a few fresh currant buns from her, taking as long as he could in order to give Halt a chance to calm down.

Really, Horace thought as the climbed the stairs up to the room, buns in hand, all he's doing is wearing himself out. Not that Horace could really blame him – after all, Will was his friend too, and Evanlyn – the thought of Evanlyn in danger made Horace's blood run cold. But Horace had a unique gift for pragmatism and he knew that as long as this terrible storm kept up, there was nothing to be done except wait. And do his best to keep Halt from exploding with pure rage and frustration. It was no small task.

Halt looked up from his contemplation of the rain as the door opened as Horace walked into the room, bringing with him the scent of Paüla's fresh currant buns. Halt's stomach growled, reminding him that it had been a while since he'd last eaten. He nodded his thanks as Horace handed him a bun – Paüla's cooking was nothing to be scoffed at. Halt took a bite. The warm and flavourful dough reminded him of better times: talking with Gilan in Araluen; sitting on the porch with Will… _God, Will_. Halt's stomach churned with guilt and anger. If – _when_ – he caught up to those traitorous bastards who had dared lay hands on Will – _they'll be sorry_, he thought. _They'll be sorry for what they've –_

"What?" Halt was dragged from his thoughts by Horace's voice.

"I said, how are we going to get into Skandia? Won't there be patrols along the border? Those'll be hard to slip past, won't they?"

If Halt was surprised by Horace's line of questioning, he didn't show it. Truth be told, he rather welcomed the distraction from his own dark thoughts. "Actually, you'd be surprised at how lax security can get when the people in power don't feel threatened. As long as old Oberjarl Ragnak thinks he's safe from Teutlandt, he won't bother pressuring the border patrol, which will make getting into Skandia this way much easier."

Horace didn't appear wholly convinced. "But we have no map. How will we know where the capital – Hallasholm – is? And what if we do run into the patrol?"

"Trust me, we won't get lost – I've been in these parts before. As for the patrols," Halt smiled grimly, "they should hope they don't get in our way."

Hearing Halt's tone of voice, Horace felt very sorry indeed for anyone unlucky enough to try and stand between Halt and Hallasholm. Then he reviewed what Hat had said and curiosity bubbled up inside him once more. "So… you've been here before?"

Halt looked at him and something like amusement glimmered in his eyes. "Yes," he said, "I travelled a lot when I was younger."

_And now it's your turn to entice me to elaborate_, he thought.

Horace did not disappoint. "Oh?" he said politely, brimming with interest and unable to restrain himself. "What were you doing? Were you on a mission? Were there battles? Was it epic? What happened?"

Looking at Horace's guileless blue eyes and wondering face, Halt had to hold back a chuckle. Here he was, no longer a boy but a blooded young man, a hero of the realm, looking at Halt as though it was story time! It was a bit ridiculous, truth be told, but then, Halt mused, we all need our stories.

"Long ago," he began –

"– and far away," Horace interjected.

"What?" Halt glared at the youth, annoyed by the interruption.

Undaunted, Horace explained. "It's how all good stories start. Long ago and far away, once upon a time… you know."

Halt snorted and bit his lip to smother his laughter at Horace's insistent expression. "Look, this isn't a fairy tale. It's a very serious story of sinister and dastardly events that I happened to be in the centre of."

Seeing the look of faint amusement on Horace's face, he floundered. "And – and you should learn… something from it."

"I still think it would be better as a fairy tale," Horace said, much to Halt's chagrin.

The Ranger's glare intensified to the point where it could have peeled paint off walls, but knowing Horace's tenacity, he acquiesced. "Fine, then. Once upon a time, long ago, _and far away_, there I was –"

"A dashing young hero," Horace supplied.

Halt choked. "Aherk – right. So I – as the dashing young hero – was sent on a mission to Toscano. It wasn't much," he hurried on before Horace could open his mouth, "just a simple diplomatic jaunt. Signing of a treaty or somesuch. Anyway, it was Crowley and I, both mere apprentices at the time. We were there for much the same reason as you and Will accompanied Gilan to Celtica: for the look of the thing."

"Something happened, didn't it?" Horace asked.

Halt waved him off impatiently. "I'm getting to that, hold on. On our third day in the court of the Toscan Re – their ruler – negotiations were coming to an end and a lavish ball was held to celebrate. Now, Crowley and I were outfitted as every apprentice Ranger is, and because we weren't particularly important members of the Araluen delegation, we had plenty of free time. We decided that the Re's palace would be a perfect opportunity to practice our stealth skills, and we spent lots of time skulking around various areas of the palace… some of which we shouldn't have been in; but no one ever saw us, so we figured there was no harm to it.

"On the third night, after the feast, Crowley and I, neither of us being particularly avid dancers, slipped away from the festivities. The rest of the palace was mostly deserted, and we saw no one who would bother us. We were wandering around, making our way back to our rooms, when suddenly we heard a man scream. Thinking someone was in trouble, we raced toward the sound, drawing our weapons as we ran. When we got to the room from where the sound had come, we barged in, and found ourselves in an interrogation chamber, were a prisoner was being questioned."

Horace's eyes were wide as saucers as Halt continued. "The guard wasn't alone. Two more men grabbed us and demanded to know what we were doing in the court of the Re. We pretended to be terrified, telling them all they wanted to know.

"Not real information," he hastened to add, at the look on Horace's face, "We knew the treaty would never be signed if they knew we were from Araluen. So we pretended to be from Skandia, thinking they would just toss us out of the city and be done with it."

"And what happened next?" Horace asked. "Did they hold you for ransom?"

"Hah, strangely enough, that might have been preferable. No, they believed we were from Skandia, and for a moment we thought we were safe. But when they hustled us outside the palace to a merchant's caravan, we knew something was wrong. Of course, they bound and gagged us ruthlessly, so escape was all but impossible by that point.

"Thankfully, we knew the Araluen party would hear about the incident and recognize us, even if the Re wouldn't. We figured that we could hide out in the wagon for the night and catch up to our party in the morning."

"Something tells me this didn't work out like you planned," Horace commented.

Halt nodded. "You're right. Not five minutes after we had concocted our plan, the caravan started to move. We were still lying in the back like hostages, unable to do anything, but we could hear the merchant at the front talking to someone."

"You eavesdropped? I thought you didn't understand Toscan."

"We didn't. I'm getting to that. As I was saying, we listened in on the exchange and discovered that the merchant was planning on heading west, towards the Narrow Sea. Crowley said we should hitch a covert ride because it would give us time to escape our bonds, and we could always slip off and make our own way if it came to that. So that's what we did – or, at least, what we tried to do; it never really worked out."

By this point, Horace had the look of someone who was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Oh, really?" he asked, and for a moment, Halt was sure – sure! – that there had been sarcasm in there somewhere.

He couldn't prove it, however, so he contented himself with glaring and grumbling under his breath about certain young lads knowing more than they ought before continuing with his story. "Yes, really. Neither of us could speak Toscan, so what we thought meant 'west to the Narrow Sea' actually meant 'I'm heading north to Hallasholm'."

"And when did you discover your mistake?" Horace prodded, blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

"When we were about hamumblemumblemumble…" Halt trailed off, avoiding Horace's gaze in a way that could only be described as shifty.

"Sorry?" said Horace, his voice as innocent as a child's. "I didn't quite catch that last part."

"I said we were about mumblegrumblemumble."

"One more time, sorry." Horace's voice quavered with the effort of holding back his laughter.

"Alright, we were halfway to Hallasholm!" Halt burst out, unable to stand it any longer. He opened his mouth to defend himself but was drowned out by Horace's peals of laughter at the idea that the famed Ranger Halt could get so lost as to wind up in another country.

"Well," Horace gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard. "I hope your sense of direction has improved. Are you sure we're not already in Skandia?"

Halt was not amused. "Ha. Ha. Like I haven't heard that one every time Crowley has a pint."

Privately, however, he marveled at the ease with which Horace was able to brighten his day just by being… well, by being Horace. It was something he'd missed ever since Will had been captured.

The thought of Will was enough to dampen his mood, however, and Halt returned to his tale, anxious to finish it, lest it bring up more unpleasant reminders of the present. "We had no choice but to continue to Hallasholm. Once we were there, it was easy enough to barter passage on a vessel bound for Gallica, and from there back ho– to Araluen. Of course, the rest of the Ranger Corps weren't too happy about the incident, but the treaty had been signed so there was nothing much they could do about it."

If Horace noticed Halt's near slip then he didn't show it. He nodded thoughtfully. "Halt… why didn't the guards recognize your uniforms in the first place? And how do you know exactly which route to take if you've only been here once?"

Halt grunted. "Hah. I wondered the same thing. A month-long wagon ride gives a man lots of time to think. When Crowley and I got to Araluen, we learned that Skandians and Toscans have little knowledge of each other – which is probably why our story worked so convincingly – so they wouldn't have known what Skandians looked like, in any case."

He shrugged. "As for the route – I never said that trip was the only time I've been to Skandia. It was just the groundwork for another, more profitable journey I made a few years later as a fully-credited Ranger. But that's a story for another time."

In fact, Halt had been saving that particular story because he had a feeling Will would appreciate it most, what with his attachment to Tug and all.

"You can't even give me a hint?" Horace sensed that this was an issue he shouldn't press too hard on, so he kept his tone light and joking; it wouldn't do to set Halt off again, not when he'd been more outgoing this afternoon than in the past two weeks combined.

Halt raised an eyebrow and replied, "Don't tell me you never wondered where the Rangers got their horses?"

On the surface, the question invited an answer, but Horace could tell by Halt's tone that the grizzled man had no wish to continue the conversation. He let it drop, obligingly, and each man returned to his own thoughts. Outside, the rain continued to pour down as thunder and lightning split the sky and scorched the earth.

Well, thought Horace, not a complete waste. He'd even gotten Halt to – well, not smile per se, because his face might break if he did that – but lighten up, certainly. His eyes had crinkled in a different way: not the 'You have thirty seconds to get out of my way or face the consequences' way, but in the way that said 'I am pleased with your actions and you may live'. This was quite an achievement, Horace felt.

For his part, Halt was stewing once more in the anguish that had plagued his every waking moment since he had last seen Will captive aboard the Skandian wolfship. His guilt and misery over the loss of his apprentice was almost like a physical presence – a shroud of nightmares forever reminding him of how he had failed. _I vowed to keep him safe. I vowed to protect him and I failed. How could I have let that happen?_ Halt berated himself silently.

As if reading his mind, Horace spoke. "Don't worry," he said, "we'll find them."

"Yes," Halt replied, wishing he could believe it.


	8. Chapter 7

The pitter-patter of rain roused Will from unconsciousness once more. Groaning, he pushed himself up to a sitting position and peered out from under the rocky outcropping where he and Evanlyn had taken shelter. The rain continued its torrential downpour from the leaden sky. Will guessed it to be just after sunup. Slowly, he surveyed their camp, checking for all their belongings. His gaze fell on Evanlyn, still asleep. They should have gone on watch during the night, he reflected, but they had both collapsed from fear and exhaustion without a second thought.

Will got up to rummage in their saddlebags for food, taking care not to wake Evanlyn. He still felt numb, cut off from the world, like a puppet going through the motions of survival. The events of the previous night felt like nothing more than a bad dream. But in the dull light of day, Will saw red crusted under his fingernails. Blood. He closed his eyes, feeling sick.

Behind him, Evanlyn chose that moment to wake up. Yawning, she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Will?" Her voice was quiet, uncertain.

He swallowed thickly, his back to her. He couldn't bear to look at her, afraid of what he might see. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I'm – I'll get breakfast."

So saying, he donned his cloak, picked up the small hunting bow and fled the camp.

Alone in the small cave, Evanlyn shivered. She wished for a fire, but the black, clenching feeling in her gut told her that the biggest bonfire in the world couldn't dispel the chill gripping her heart. She buried her face in her hands.

Out along the overgrown trail, Will's breath came in harsh, shaky gasps. He blundered through the undergrowth, mind whirling in a haze of shock and revulsion. I killed a man, he thought. A shudder ripped through his body as he recalled the feeling of the man going limp beneath him; the sick _crunch_ the rock had made as it pierced his skull. He saw again the man's dark eyes go dim as the final blow was struck and knew he could never forget what he had done.

He stumbled to a halt against a tree, the chill rain seeping through his clothes. Gripping the bark with shaking hands, he forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. What would Halt do? he asked himself. The thought of his trusted mentor brought him a small sense of calm and peace. _We're_ _not out of the mountains yet,_ he reminded himself. _Think about this later._ Taking one more deep breath, Will opened his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Breakfast wouldn't find itself.

Half an hour later saw Will returning to the campsite, a small rabbit in hand. Evanlyn, busy checking on their remaining provisions, looked up at his approaching footsteps. She had already set out a small bundle of sticks to dry so they could be used as kindling. Will nodded his approval and began to skin the rabbit, using it as an excuse to avoid conversation.

Breakfast was a silent affair, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Evanlyn kept shooting him sharp little glances that to Will seemed almost like physical blows of accusation. He had managed to calm himself down sufficiently in the woods, but the silence gnawed at him and the tension in the air made it feel like he was breathing ice water. At last, he could stand it no more.

"Evanlyn," he began, staring fixedly at the floor, "are you –"

She interrupted. "Will, I –"

They both fell silent. Will gestured for her to continue.

"I'm not sorry you did it," she declared, green eyes blazing. Will looked up, startled.

"I'm not," she reiterated, seeing the surprise on his face. "It was – that was self-defense, and you did what was necessary."

Will dropped his gaze once more and bit his lip, uncertain. Seeing this, Evanlyn continued. "He tried to kill you, Will! He would have killed us both, if you hadn't gotten him first."

The slight composure Will had gained in the forest was slipping. "I didn't want to," he whispered shakily. "If there had been another way – Evanlyn, I still have his blood on my hands."

"I helped you too, remember," she said darkly. "I felt it when his legs stopped kicking. But Will, listen. This – this doesn't make us bad people. It was in self-defense. God, I wish –"

She trailed off, and Will saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"I wish none of this had ever happened," she whispered, swiping ineffectually at her eyes.

Will said the only thing he could, forcing the words around the lump in his throat. "I know."

And then, Will was moving, before he could process what he was doing. He placed his hand on Evanlyn's shoulder, wanting to comfort her but not knowing how. She turned and embraced him, and he clung to her, burying his face in her hair. He had yearned to hug her for so long, but now it brought him no joy. Instead, all he felt was an aching emptiness in his chest, and the wetness seeping through his shirt as Evanlyn clung to him and together they cried.

* * *

The rain had lessened slightly by the time Will and Evanlyn packed up camp and left the cave, Jarl Erak's pony in tow. They were in the foothills of the mountains, but the path was treacherous, littered with slippery rocks and roots that twisted and grabbed at their feet, causing them to stumble constantly. It didn't help that Evanlyn felt like someone had been pounding her with mallets all night long. She couldn't speak for Will, but judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin, he felt much the same.

They walked together in silence for a while, the only noise coming from the raindrops hitting the leaves and the clopping of the pony's hooves on the uneven rocks. Eventually, Evanlyn spoke.

"How much longer is it to Teutlandt?" she asked, clambering awkwardly over a fallen log.

Will pushed damp hair back from his eyes as he replied. "I can't imagine we're too far now. We're definitely in the foothills. If we continue at a steady pace, we should probably reach Teutlandt by nightfall."

"I hope you're right. Maybe we can find an abandoned farm or something there. Imagine being warm!"

Despite her attempt at lightheartedness, however, Evanlyn was still worried. The Temujai might have been a scout of some kind, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he must have had companions waiting for his return. Companions who might follow them.

But maybe she didn't need to say it aloud. Will saw the troubled look in her eyes and reached out to reassure her. "Don't worry. We'll get there."

Evanlyn had no choice but to believe him. She took his hand and together they walked on.

Dark fell faster than either of them had expected. Will insisted that they keep going: he may have been still recovering from the warmweed, but he was loath to lose any more time than they already had. For her part, Evanlyn agreed, galvanized by worries of more Temujai on their trail. But the going was tough, and the terrain full of unseen rocks and wet mud sucking at their boots. Almost swaying with exhaustion, Evanlyn was about to demand they rest, when –

"Look, Will!" she cried softly as they struggled up the crest of a small hill, "A light!"

Will came up behind her, leading the pony, breath coming in shallow gasps.

"A what?"

He followed her gaze down through the sparse trees in front of them just in time to see a light wink out in the valley below.


	9. Chapter 8

At the inn, Halt and Horace were finishing up a hearty dinner of roast beef and boiled potatoes as Paüla prepared to retire for the night. She briskly banked the fire and blew out the candle in the window.

"Damn," Horace swore as he spilt his mug of cider all over his lap. "Would you mind re-lighting that?"

Paüla may not have understood his words, but she obligingly relit the candle as she watched the young man mop ineffectually at his pants with a napkin.

Halt rubbed wearily at his face with one hand. "Remind me why I brought you along, again?"

"You needed someone to entertain you by spilling drinks everywhere," Horace replied good-naturedly, though it was clear that Halt's attention was no longer on their conversation. Instead, the Ranger looked contemplatively to the flickering flame in the window, and said nothing more.

* * *

"There it is again!" Will hissed triumphantly as the pinprick of light flared anew. "What do you think it is?"

"I don't know." Shivering with cold and exhaustion, Evanlyn still felt the fire of hope kindle in her belly. "Maybe it's a farm or somewhere we can take shelter."

"You're probably right." The thought of a warm bed after weeks of camping on forest floors and mountain foothills was enough to spur Will on, even footsore and weary as he was. It was this exhaustion that clouded his mind and dulled his initial wariness enough for him to make his next decision. Halt would never have approved of it, but then, Will reminded himself, Halt wasn't here.

"Let's go check it out."

"Yes," Evanlyn agreed fervently and together they slipped and skidded down the hill towards the light.

* * *

The silence in the room was now thicker than treacle. Paüla had vanished back upstairs and now Horace sat staring at Halt, who was staring at the candle flame as if it would spontaneously solve all their problems.

Inside, of course, Halt was seething.

Thanks to the thrice-damned storm they had lost another day on the search for Will and the princess Cassandra. The cynical voice inside his head said they should probably start looking for bodies at this rate, but Halt quickly shut it down, not willing to think about that. There were a lot of things he wasn't currently willing to think about. Being cooped up inside all day hadn't helped at all, and although talking to Horace had been a welcome distraction (though Halt would never admit it), it wasn't enough to occupy his mind for long. The doubts always came back.

_I can't believe I'm doing this,_ Halt thought. _Will kidnapped by those damn Skandians and I can't help him because of this blasted rainstorm, and my companion on this quest is a barely-blooded trainee who spills cider on his trousers when the lights go out. I knew I should never have asked him to come along. He's too young, too much of a liability. I can't be responsible for him – what if something happens? I've already failed Will…_

Halt's inner tirade was cut off by a strange noise from outside the inn, barely detectable to even a Ranger's fine hearing.

"Horace," he whispered, lips barely moving, "there's something out there."

Horace whipped his head around, hand already moving toward his scabbard. He strained his ears to listen for something other than the sound of raindrops.

He paused, and then whispered to Halt, "I hear it."

* * *

"Almost there." Will panted, stumbling to a halt behind a tree.

The light was coming from a brightly burning candle in the window of what appeared to be an inn. Will and Evanlyn were huddled against a tree not ten meters away from the squat building, peering out from under rain-soaked hair at what could be their salvation.

"It doesn't look like any type of Skandian building we've seen," Will said, fighting against the mind-numbing fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him.

"T-that's a good st-start," Evanlyn agreed from where she was pressed up against Will's back, teeth chattering from the cold. "If we're in Teutlandt, they might not hold us hostage or enslave us; Teutlandt is very peaceful with Ar-r-raluen. L-l-let's go around front."

Far too tired to think about the possible dangers of the situation, and for lack of a better option, Will followed Evanlyn's lead around the side of the building. Their progress was hindered by the unseen roots under their feet and the constant menacing press of darkness at their backs, which seemed so much worse now that they had seen the cheerful light. As it was, they made enough noise to wake a sleeping bear as they fell and crashed and cursed over to the front of the building.

* * *

Horace was staring at the main door with an intensity that looked quite at odds on his broad, open face.

"It sounds like it's moving around to the front," he said quietly, loosening his sword slightly inside its scabbard.

Beside him, Halt said nothing, seemingly content to polish his throwing knife with an air of nonchalance. He longed for his longbow, upstairs and useless now. The noise stopped abruptly. Horace tried to peer through the window from his seat, but all he saw was his own pale face reflected back at him.

"Get ready," said Halt grimly. "I think it's coming in."

* * *

"Aha," Will breathed as he and Evanlyn stared at the front of the building, "it _is_ an inn. Must mean we're finally in Teutlandt."

"Oh, thank God!" Evanlyn felt her knees going positively weak with relief at the thought of shelter and a proper night's sleep. "Let's go."

Will opened his mouth to point out that neither of them spoke the local language; that they'd have to bargain for a room but had nothing to barter with; that the owner of the inn might be hostile – but all that came out was a jaw-cracking yawn.

Desperation for safety at last overcame sense, and Will threw all caution to the winds. They were so close. His vision already starting to blur, he placed one hand on the wooden door.


	10. Chapter 9

**AN: **"Personal isn't the same as important." -- From Terry Pratchett's _Jingo_.

* * *

The door opened.

Horace was gripping his sword hilt so tightly that his knuckles were white. Likewise, Halt's fingers were clenched around his throwing knife in a vise-like grip.

A blast of rain and cold air swept through the room, but all of Halt's attention was riveted on the figures silhouetted in the doorway. He felt his stomach drop to the vicinity of his boots, and his chest constricted as the magnitude of the situation hit him. _Oh. My. God._

"Oh, look." Will clung to the doorframe as his sole means of support, mind and body exhausted beyond all belief, more tired than he'd ever been in his life, but, somehow, still standing. Not for long, though, if what he was seeing was any indication. Obviously that wasn't _actually_ Halt sitting there with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Will knew his eyes were playing tricks on him, but he still couldn't resist saying, "Aha, hi Halt. Long time, no see" before crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

Beside him, still upright but swaying gently on her feet, Evanlyn started to giggle. "Hi, Horace. And you must be Halt. Will's told me all about you."

"I hope not," was all Halt could come up with, still in shock and unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Gosh, you're funny," Evanlyn slurred before she too collapsed onto the hearthrug.

For a moment, there was stunned silence as Halt and Horace tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed. Halt's mind whirled with questions. Then, years of training took over and he promptly locked all personal thoughts away for later examination.

"Come on," he barked at a stunned Horace, "close the door and help me get them upstairs. They can have our rooms –"

"_Mach dir keinen Kopf_," Paüla interrupted him from atop the stairs, having heard the commotion and come down to investigate. "There are other rooms they can use. Come."

"_Danke schonn_," Halt replied as Paüla went to prepare the rooms. "Horace!"

"Wha- oh," said Horace, jerked from his trance, "right."

He followed Halt's lead as the older man hoisted Will's limp form over his shoulder and moved up the stairs. Horace gently picked Evanlyn up off the floor as Halt's earlier words resonated in his mind. He cradled her in his arms and tried not to think too hard about where, exactly, he was touching the crown princess Cassandra.

The journey up the stairs and down the hall seemed to stretch into eternity for Horace, but compared to what came next, it was positively relaxing.

"We have to get them out of these clothes," Halt instructed, laying the unconscious Will down on the bed and beginning to briskly and efficiently divest him of his outerwear.

Horace was pretty sure he hadn't heard correctly. "You want me to do what, now?"

Halt huffed impatiently but didn't spare him a glance. "Take. Off. Her clothes."

When Horace didn't move, he added, "Unless you want her to freeze to death."

Horace was galvanized into action. He carried Evanlyn into the next room and laid her carefully on the bed. _Right, _he thought as he set Evanlyn down and began to peel away her sodden cloak, _right._ _I am touching Princess Cassandra of Araluen and I am removing her cloak and boots, but I am not thinking about it. No way._ His fingers felt as useful as sausages fumbling at the laces.

On to the shirt laces. Horace swallowed nervously and started work, trying his hardest not to notice Evanlyn's smooth, pale skin as he slid the sodden material off her shoulders. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't hear the door creak as Paüla entered the room with a fresh robe for Evanlyn.

"_Was doest du?"_ she hissed at him, apparently not caring that he didn't understand a single word. It didn't matter, in any case. The overall meaning was clear enough, made clearer when Paüla rapped him smartly on the head and shoved him toward the door, her voice rising in volume as she berated him.

The door closed in Horace's face.

"Right," he said shakily, leaning against the wall while he tried to untangle his thoughts. Will and Evanlyn were back. Bruised and battered and a bit worse for wear, but alive and breathing nonetheless. This was good. Amazing. Probably the best thing that could have happened, Horace considered, and felt lightheaded with relief and joy at knowing his friends were safe. Suddenly, the leaden weight of anxiety dissipated from his shoulders. He felt restless, excited, so glad that Will and Evanlyn were returned at last. Now they could all finally go home and everything would be alright. He hummed under his breath as he headed down the hallway to Will's room, where he knew Halt would be.

Horace knocked softly on the door. Once, twice, three times. When there was no answer, he pushed the door open gingerly, wincing at the creak of protesting hinges.

"Halt," he whispered, feeling very much like a soldier reporting for duty, "Evanlyn's sleeping. Is Will okay?"

Halt, hunched over Will's bed in the gloom, did not respond. Horace took a tentative step forward. He had the nagging feeling that he was intruding on something, though he knew not what. The wood-paneled room suddenly seemed too small, too confined. The darkness pressed in on him. Tension seemed to radiate in waves from Halt's stocky form as he sat, back rigid and shoulders… shaking? Horace did a double-take. There was no way the legendary Ranger Halt was indulging in such an open display of emotion. But… Will was like a son to him, Horace thought.

"Sorry," he whispered, chastened, though whether Halt even recognized his presence in the room he wasn't sure. He edged back to the door and slipped away to his room as quietly as possible. He had the feeling that neither he nor Halt would get much sleep tonight.

* * *

_Personal isn't the same as important. There will come a time when you will have to choose between the action that is needed and the action that you want to take. Your training will help you to a point – but only and always to a point. In the end, the decision is yours and yours alone. _

The words rang through Halt's head, remembered even after all these years. One of the most vital rules of the Ranger Corps.

_We put on a brave front and lick our wounds and hold our grudges in private. We never act on personal feelings, not if it hinders us in our duty._

Well, he'd broken that rule already, not to mention earned himself expulsion from the Corps. and exile from Araluen, his beloved homeland. It was a painful price to pay.

He didn't even need to ask himself if it was worth it. Of course it was. He'd do it all again a hundred times – a thousand times – if it meant having Will back safely. Halt couldn't begin to describe how much it meant to know that Will was safe. The boy had become like a son to him, which put Halt in the unique, if not wholly enjoyable position of caring about someone other than himself. He had friends, of course – Crowley and Gilan ranked very highly on that list – but neither of them were kidnapped by Skandians, Halt reminded himself. _If I had been faster… If I had been more prepared – if I had been there for him, none of this would have happened…_

Guilt swamped him like a tidal wave, cutting off his air, choking him, pulling him down deeper into despair's inky depths. He looked at Will's pale face: his apprentice was sleeping like the dead (and how accurate that phrase might have been was enough to give Halt nightmares). Now that he had him back, Halt vowed he would protect Will at any cost.

And so the night wore on, and Halt, lost in his thoughts, never ceased his vigil by Will's side.


	11. Chapter 10

Evanlyn awoke with a start. She looked around, disoriented: she was on a bed (_okay, bed. Bed is a good sign, right?_) in an unfamiliar room. As rooms went, it wasn't bad. The walls were wood-paneled, as was the floor. The grey light of morning filtered in through a small window to her left, illuminating a small wooden bedside table and plain chest of drawers. But her pleasant, if quaint, surroundings did nothing to quell the fear that raced through her veins as she realized she had no memory of getting here.

Sitting up, she tried to assess the situation. She felt relatively well-rested but her skin and hair were caked with grime – waitaminute. Where were her clothes? In place of the leggings and tunic she had worn since Hallasholm, she now wore a terrycloth robe. What had happened? Evanlyn heaved a mental sigh. If she'd gotten herself kidnapped again, Will wouldn't be in any shape to rescue her. The first tinges of panic began to creep into her mind. Where was Will?

Evanlyn fought the urge to curl up into a ball and cry. She really wanted a bath. She didn't want to have to deal with this. She wanted to go home and sleep in her own bed and –

Before her inner tirade could really get started, Evanlyn was interrupted by a polite knock on the door. She whirled around in surprise, feeling her heart leap into her throat.

"Wh-who is it?" she stammered, clutching her robe tighter about her body.

"It's me. Um. May I come in?" asked a distinctly familiar voice. The events of the previous night began to come back to her as the door inched open to reveal…

"Horace!" Evanlyn shrieked and threw herself bodily at the startled young man, engulfing him in a hug. "I missed you so much! What are you doing here? Last night – how long have I been asleep? And that man – Halt – I thought it was all a dream – and what happened to my clothes?"

Horace couldn't help the furious blush that crawled over his cheeks at her last question. But he did his best to answer. "I'm here with Halt – it's a long story, really. You've been asleep since you and – you came in last night. And, um. Paüla and – I mean, Paüla has your clothes."

Evanlyn raised an eyebrow in a formidable impression of Halt. "Paüla being…?"

"The innkeeper. Stout blonde woman, likes to hit people over the head sometimes." Horace had no idea where the conversation was going, but judging by the odd look in Evanlyn's eyes, it wasn't going anywhere good. He dropped his gaze to the floor.

There came a strange choking noise. Horace whipped his head up to stare at Evanlyn. Her face was beet-red and scrunched up, and her shoulders were shaking with the effort of controlling herself. Eventually, however, she could do so no longer and her laughter bust forth in a helpless gale. Stunned for a moment by the unexpectedness of it all, Horace recovered quickly and he could not help but join in. Their infectious laughter filled the hallway and all the miserable tensions of the last months melted away and in their place came sweet, sweet joy and relief.

"Oh, Horace," Evanlyn gasped once she could breathe again, "thank you. I really needed that."

"Yeah," agreed Horace, blue eyes alight with happiness. "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," Evanlyn smiled up at him and Horace couldn't help but grin back.

"I'm also starving," she continued playfully, though the sharpness of her cheekbones belied her jest. "Does Paüla also serve food?"

* * *

Evanlyn felt much more herself after a long bath and the sampling of Paüla's scrumptious _Korinthenbrötchen_.

"Right," she said, looking around with a determined air. And then she asked the question Horace had been dreading from the very start.

"Where's Will?"

* * *

Will, as it turned out, was still sleeping deeply, oblivious to the world. Not so for Halt, who had not ceased his vigil at Will's bedside the entire night and did not plan on doing so for hours yet. The currant buns Paüla had brought for him earlier that morning now lay cold and half-eaten on the tray, all but forgotten as the Ranger continued his self-castigation, mindless of anything save getting Will back.

Halt was so lost in thought that he almost didn't register the _creak_ of the door as it opened, admitting a very pale Horace and a very frustrated-looking Evanlyn. Not a sound was made as the three parties stared at each other as if caught in a tableau, eyeing each other warily as if to say _who will go first_?

Evanlyn broke the strained silence, letting out an involuntary gasp of shock as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she caught sight of the prone figure buried under the blankets – Will. She started towards him but was quickly blocked by Halt as he stood up from his chair. The grizzled Ranger was a commanding presence, though Evanlyn was shocked to note that, up close, Halt's eyes were level with her own.

"You must be Evanlyn," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. He gave her a curt nod, though Evanlyn knew he knew perfectly well who she was – he had told Horace, after all. "Why are you here?"

The subtle edge in his voice threw Evanlyn off guard for a moment, but she quickly recovered herself, answering with the grace and poise that befitted her station. "I'm here to see Will."

If Halt was surprised by such an authoritative reply, he made no sign of it. Horace, however, watching the exchange, was impressed – not many people could have replied so smoothly and calmly to the prickly Ranger's tone.

And yet just as suddenly as Halt's defensiveness had come, it was gone. His face seemed to grow more haggard and his shoulders slumped as all the fight went out of him. He cast a glance back at the figure on the bed before replying.

"He's… he's still sleeping." He looked at Evanlyn then, and the raw, unbridled pain in his dark eyes made something tighten in her own throat. She instantly regretted any misgivings she'd had about Halt before meeting him. Clearly, she and Horace were not the only ones who cared about Will.

"He'll be fine," she murmured, though whom she was trying to reassure, she didn't know.


	12. Chapter 11

The next few days at the inn crawled by as everyone waited anxiously for Will to regain consciousness. It didn't help that the weather was still foul; the rain had stopped, but the skies were a dreary, uninviting grey. Horace and Evanlyn spent some of that time in the inn's taproom, talking quietly in a corner or simply enjoying each other's presence. The rest they spent in Will's room with Halt, though whether the Ranger enjoyed or merely tolerated their presence, he gave no sign. And so they stayed. And waited.

Now, they were all gathered once again in Will's room: Halt in his chair by the sleeping boy; Evanlyn, wearing her customary tunic and leggings, perched on the windowsill; and Horace, similarly attired, pacing back and forth across the floorboards as he had been for the last – well, he'd lost track of time. Turning again, Horace sighed softly and ran a hand through his hair. His stomach was knotted in a strange mix of boredom and gut-clenching worry for his friend. Catching Evanlyn's eye as he crossed the room again, Horace could tell she felt the same way. He glanced over at Halt, shoulders hunched protectively over the bed, and suppressed another sigh. He wished Will would wake up.

Little did he know, his wish was about to come true.

* * *

Will hurt. He ached all over and felt like every inch of him had been beaten with mallets. Even his eyelashes ached, and that was just, well, _ow_. His eyelids felt like Jarl Erak was sitting on them, but he forced them open anyway, though it was a tremendous effort to do so. The bright light that assaulted him upon doing so made him gasp in discomfort. Dazed, Will blinked and his vision slowly solidified into a grizzled face weathered by sun and rain, a ragged salt-and-pepper beard, and those painfully familiar grey eyes.

"Halt?"

The Ranger in question froze, unable to draw breath. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears; his hands were trembling. How long had he waited to hear that voice? How long had it been since he'd seen those eyes – dulled, yes, incredibly weary, but still filled with a warmth and curiosity that made their brown depths shine? Eyes that were now peering at him anxiously.

"Halt?" Will's voice felt like sandpaper inside his throat, but he had to know if this was real. This had to be real. "Is that – is that you?"

"Yes, Will," Halt found himself murmuring, vision going suspiciously blurry, "It's me. I –"

But whatever he might have said was cut off by the feeling of Will pawing at him, trying to lever himself into a sitting position. Halt immediately reached to help him and was rewarded by Will all but throwing himself into his arms. Halt responded instinctively, gathering Will to his chest, crushing the boy against him as a relentless wave of emotion overcame them both. Will's face was pressed against his neck and Halt could feel his collar growing damp with Will's tears. Similar tears threatened to spill from Halt's own eyes as he realized Will was speaking, sobbing out a jumbled litany of _Halt Halt Halt ohgod missed you so much god _into his neck. Halt dug his fingers into Will's back, burying his face in the boy's hair – and then the tears really did spill. He inhaled Will's scent – pine and rain and wet wool – and heard his muffled breaths and couldn't stop the burning lump in his throat at the thought of never seeing Will again. Never talking to him, never again seeing the simple curiosity that sparkled in his eyes… never again seeing Will's smile. Never hearing his laugh… Never…

Seeing this raw display of emotion, Evanlyn traded a look with Horace, standing unnoticed at the back of the room. Wordlessly, they swept out, closing the door softly behind them, leaving Halt and Will to their privacy.

Tears ran freely down Halt's face, trickling into his beard unheeded as he sobbed and hugged Will close – Will who was his apprentice, but so much more as well.

"Will," he rasped, chest painfully tight with emotion, "God, Will." It was all he was capable of saying.

"I thought –" Will's voice trembled as he choked out the words, finally giving into the fear that had tormented him for months, "I though I'd n-never see you ag-g-gain…"

Halt froze, his grip tightening around Will. He felt as though he'd been dunked in ice water. A bitter chill seeped through his veins and he became aware of his own heartbeat resonating in his ears. He pulled back and gently tilted Will's chin up to look him in the eye.

"Will," he said, trying to ignore the way his voice shook, "I'm here. It's over now. You're – you're safe."

Will leaned in to hug him again and Halt allowed it, reveling in the feeling of the boy – warm, safe, alive – in his arms. For a while, they simply sat in silence until Will's stomach took the opportunity to remind him that he hadn't eaten in three days – loudly.

Halt raised an eyebrow.

"Go get cleaned up," he said, helping Will out of bed and indicating the small washing chamber off to the right. "Then we can eat and you can tell me what happened."

* * *

"Will!"

Will froze, one of Paüla's currant buns halfway to his mouth. (The other three that had been on the plate were currently lining the inside of his stomach – Paüla made a mean pastry.) Slowly, for he was still sore, he turned in his chair in time to see Evanlyn's bright smile as she raced toward him, arms outstretched, flying through the weak rays of sunlight that illuminated the taproom.

"You're awake!" Laughing, she hugged him gently, still mindful of his various cuts and bruises. As she pulled away, Will caught the scent of her skin – a hint of soap from her wash – and couldn't stop the way his heart skipped a beat.

But he didn't have time to wonder because Horace – steady, reliable Horace – was bearing down on him, blue eyes impossibly wide and smiling so hard Will feared for his facial muscles. Will let out a joyful, though not very masculine cry as Horace embraced him, but his happiness at seeing his friend outweighed any potential embarrassment. And Horace, for his part, was simply too relieved at seeing Will whole and healthy to mock him.

"Will," he said very seriously when they pulled apart, "thank God you're back."

He nodded at Halt, sitting across the table. "I was afraid his face was going to freeze like that."

Will's eyes lit up. He peered at Halt, pretending to scrutinize the older man. "You mean it hasn't already?"

"Well, you know," Evanlyn piped up, "now that you get to it… it's kind of hard to tell."

She joined Will and Horace as they burst into laughter.

Halt crossed his arms and glowered and tried to pretend that Will's laughter wasn't the most wonderful sound he'd heard in almost a year.

"Alright," he growled, once he'd judged by the redness of their faces and their streaming eyes that the three youths had had enough, "I may be old but I'm not deaf. And there's one thing I'd really like to hear," he continued as Will wiped his eyes and Horace caught his breath, "and that's your story, Will."

The table grew quiet for a moment in the wake of Halt's words. Will fidgeted slightly and picked at the wooden tabletop, chipping out a loose splinter of wood with his thumbnail. An unreadable expression flickered across his face and he pried the sliver loose, but his voice was steady and his eyes were clear as he looked up and began to speak.

"The Skandians caught us caught us just as Morgarath's bridge fell…"

* * *

The sun was dipping low in the west and the clouds were flocking over the mountains as Will, thanks to Evanlyn's many helpful interjections, finished his story. Halt and Horace had been an appreciative audience, Horace listening with rapt attention and "oooh"-ing and "aaah"-ing at precisely the right moments, while Halt sat silently, only interrupting once or twice to ask specific questions.

"What I don't understand," he said finally, his deep voice pensive, "is why the Temujai scout would simply vanish the way you say he did. If he even suspected that there was something amiss near the hut… any scout worth his salt would have investigated. You're sure you two weren't followed?"

Will flushed at his mentor's words and Evanlyn dropped her gaze to the table. Halt pretended not to notice, gazing at them through hooded eyes. From the moment Will had refused to make eye contact when discussing the Temujai's first appearance at the hut, Halt's doubts had been triggered. Now, Will's hesitation only served to add fuel to the fire.

A beat of silence passed, and then Evanlyn spoke up.

"We weren't followed," she said softly, an indefinable expression in her green eyes. "We made sure of it."


	13. Chapter 12

Later that evening, there came a soft knocking on Halt's door. Pausing momentarily to check that the slim knives at his wrists and ankles were secure under his loose tunic and breeches, Halt raised his head.

"Come in, Will."

"Damn," Will breathed as he stepped into the room, stockinged feet soft against the floorboards. "How did you know it was me?"

Halt merely grunted as he folded a fresh pair of breeches into a chest of drawers. _Who else would it be_, he wanted to say. _I know you have something to say; I saw the look on your face when you talked about the Temujai near the cabin. No scout worth his salt would return to his leader empty-handed, so tell me the whole story before I'm forced to make it more painful for the both of us._

Instead, he settled for, "You stepped on every single loose floorboard from one end of the hall to another. I've head horses move more quietly." Which was technically true; he just wouldn't tell Will that he'd spent a particularly insufferable afternoon days previous scoring between the floorboards with his saxe knife, loosening them just enough to achieve the desired creaking effect when someone stood outside his door. Now, he added _floorboards_ to his mental list of reasons to leave Paüla an embarrassingly generous tip when they left.

"Halt, I –" Will faltered, dragging Halt back to the present. He twisted his hands behind his back, not looking Halt in the eye. "I have something to tell you."

"Will, if this is about the warmweed, or what happened with the Skandians, don't worry about it. The conditions were inhuman; you didn't know any better. Crowley will understand."

But Will shook his head. "No. It's about the Temujai scout. What I told you before wasn't – wasn't the whole story."

Will met Halt's eyes at last and the fear and shame in his face shook Halt to the core. "Will," he said slowly, never breaking eye contact with the youth, "you know you can tell me anything, right? Nothing you say will make me or anyone else think less of you."

Will nodded miserably.

"Come," said Halt, draping his arm around Will's shoulders and guiding him to the bed, "sit."

Will sat down on the mattress and stared at the floor as if he could somehow sink into it if he tried hard enough. Halt sat beside him so that their shoulders brushed and waited for Will to break the silence.

"When I was still addicted to the warmweed," he began, voice low and toneless, "Evanlyn did everything to keep us from starving. She was out gathering – hunting, really – a rabbit, when she saw a man wearing strange furs, sitting astride a horse. She hid in the bush so he wouldn't see her. When I finally woke up, she told me about this man, and we were as careful as we could be when we left the hut, muffling the pony's hooves, everything."

"But," he continued, with no small amount of self-recrimination, "somehow we were followed. I should have noticed it sooner – we should have doubled back and changed our path –"

Will broke off, staring unseeing into space, hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically on the bedsheets. This show of such obvious distress made Halt's chest constrict and his jaw clench unconsciously. He longed to hug Will to him and reassure his apprentice that nothing was his fault, but his arms would not obey. So he sat, in motionless agony, as Will continued his story.

"There was a storm brewing as we neared the foothills. It caught up to us faster than we'd anticipated. In the middle of the night, it just suddenly started pouring. A thunderclap woke me up and the next thing I know there's a man standing over me with a sword at my throat. I tried to kick him off his feet but he was ready for it and took a swing at me, forcing me to roll away before I could grab the knife. Evanlyn tried to use her sling against him, and it dazed him enough for me to kick his sword away and leap on top of him. He was slightly stunned when he fell to the ground, but he was so strong. Evanlyn was pinning his legs and I was wrestling with him, trying to – do something, but –" Will's voice cracked, "it was pitch black and the rain made it even more impossible to see, but he got his hands around my throat and started choking me – I couldn't do anything. I was flailing, trying to get free, trying to remember my training – anything. So I – there was a rock on the ground – it was sharp – I couldn't see anymore, I couldn't breathe, he was choking me so hard – and I – I slammed it into the side of his head, hard, as hard as I could, again and again."

Tears were trailing unheeded down Will's cheeks; his voice was almost a whisper as he said, "I killed him, Halt. I saw something in his eyes _stop_ and he let go of my throat and just… fell."

He stopped and buried his face in his hands. "It was my fault."

"And… what did you do then?" The words forced themselves out of Halt's throat.

"We ran. We dragged the – him out of sight and then we packed up camp and ran until we couldn't move anymore. Eventually we found our way here."

There was a long moment of silence while Halt sat numbly, trying to process what Will had just told him.

"Halt? Halt, say something, please." Will was almost choking with panic at his mentor's silence.

"Will," Halt's voice cut sharply through the haze of hysteria in Will's mind. He placed a hand on Will's shoulder, grounding him. "Listen to me. There comes a time in every Ranger's life when the only choice we have is to take the life of another being. As a Ranger, your skills and knowledge make you lethal to anyone seeking to attack you. You've seen this with the Wargals –"

"But Halt, I only shot the Wargals because they were attacking… oh." Will paused to contemplate this. "But Halt – I could see in his face – when I hit him with the rock – he _knew_."

Halt held up a hand. "I am not saying that his death was the desired outcome. In a perfect world, we'd be using our skills with a blade to whittle tree trunks into life-size replicas of King Duncan. But that night, what you did was an act of desperation, of self-preservation. If you had not fought back, he would not have hesitated to kill you."

Looking at his apprentice, Halt sighed and said, "Will, what I'm saying is that this is not the first time this has happened, to you or to anyone else. As a Ranger, there will be times when every other option has been exhausted and killing is unavoidable. It's the price we pay for keeping the realm safe."

Will bit his lip. "I know that," he said softly, turning to face his mentor. "But I can still – I killed him, Halt and what if he had a family –"

"It's the price we pay," Halt repeated solemnly. "Your guilt is a good thing; in fact, I'd be worried if you weren't bothered, because this is not something to be taken lightly. But sometimes it can't be helped."

There was a beat of silence. And then, "Halt?"

"Yes?"

There was anguish in his brown eyes, but Will's voice was steady as he spoke. "Does it – does it ever get any easier? Knowing what you've done?"

This time, it was Halt's turn to look away. No one should have to ask such a question, but Will deserved to know the truth. "No. You learn to accept it, when necessary. But the knowledge never truly goes away."

"I see," said Will at last.

And then Halt exhaled loudly because he knew the question Will really wanted to ask. "This does not make you a bad person, Will."

There was a muffled gasp and then Will's arms were around him, hugging him tight as he buried his face in Halt's chest. Halt took a moment to respond, hugging Will back just as tight, trying to convey with his touch everything he could never say aloud.

At last, they pulled apart and Will gave Halt a small and shaky smile. "Thanks, Halt."

Halt gave no sign of having heard him, but Will swore his deep-set eyes looked almost damp in the candlelight.

"You should get some sleep," he said gruffly, escorting Will to the door. "We're leaving tomorrow, weather permitting."

Will's smile grew slightly stronger at the words. "We're going home!"

Halt's stomach twisted. He hadn't told Will about his banishment – but surely that could wait. He found himself smiling back at Will. "Yes. We're heading home."


	14. Chapter 13

It was early afternoon by the time the party set out from the inn. Although no one had planned on packing much – Halt and Horace had only the necessities for two people, and Will and Evanlyn had come with little more than the clothes on their backs – Paüla had prepared a veritable feast for them to carry, not to mention the extra bedrolls and spare clothes she had laid out, for which Will and Evanlyn were unspeakably grateful. She also refused to let them leave without feeding them a lunch fit for kings, with _Korinthenbrötchen_, sausages, and hearty vegetable stew that the travelers had scarfed down with gusto, unsure when they would next have a hot meal.

When they were at last packed and fed, Evanlyn and Horace accompanied Will to the stables where he was joyfully reunited with Tug. Halt, meanwhile, was taken aside by Paüla, where she explained in clear and concise terms why she could not, in good conscience, accept the extravagant tip he had left her. Halt proceeded to explain in equally clear and concise terms why she could. Eventually, she capitulated and it was with a triumphant – if slightly dazed – look that Halt returned to see Will feeding Tug an apple and petting the pony's neck soothingly while Evanlyn and Horace double-checked Kicker and Abelard's saddlebags.

That apple most likely came from our provisions, Halt thought, but couldn't bring himself to mind. Will and his friends were safe and happy; the road to Araluen stretched out before them; and as the party turned to wave to Paüla once more, Halt allowed himself to give a name to the strange, buoyant feeling unfurling in his chest: happiness.

* * *

They spent the next several weeks on the road, falling easily into an efficient yet comfortable routine. Seeing as Will and Evanlyn were no longer running from any authority figures – for the moment, at least, Halt thought – they were free to travel during the day and sleep at night. In the mornings, they would rise just before dawn to pack and scarf down a hasty breakfast of bread, cheese, and, if they were really lucky, a pot of coffee made from the dry roast Paüla had thoughtfully packed in Halt's saddlebags. Then, they would mount up: Halt, with his mottled Ranger's cloak, in the lead on Abelard, Evanlyn next on the packhorse, followed by Will and Tug. Horace completed the lineup in his dun-coloured jerkin and breeches astride Kicker. Jarl Erak's pony plodded behind them, led by a lead attached to Kicker's reins.

They would ride for several hours, sticking to coastal areas and heading southwest toward the Narrow Sea. At midday, they would find a secluded area to dismount and have lunch – Paüla's buns at first, and then, when those ran out, whatever small game they could scare up. Halt was wary of going into towns or other densely populated areas, having learned his lesson at Chateau Montsombre, so the party stuck to the back roads: hunters' paths and overgrown trails. Dinner would consist of whatever game they found, or a simple yet savory stew from the small spice sachets Halt carried. Most evenings saw them sitting around their small fire, discussing their next move, much like generals planning an attack. Sometimes, however, they would tell stories. Halt and Horace took this time to bring Will and Evanlyn up to speed on the events that had transpired in Araluen after their capture. In all their time together, Halt didn't think he'd seen Horace quite so uncomfortable as when his friends pressed him for details about the final battle on the plains.

"You took on Morgarath?" Will exclaimed incredulously. "How? What was it like? What did you do?"

"I, uh," Horace squirmed, discomfort fairly radiating off him. "It wasn't – I mean, we fought and I just… won. It was all thanks to Gilan, though," he added quickly. "If he hadn't taught us that double knife sword defense – you remember, Will – I'd be cleaved in half by now."

That, of course, sparked a whole new round of questions, and by the time Horace had finished answering all to them, the stars were visible in the inky sky. Will was massively impressed by his friend's victory and told him so, clapping him on the shoulder. Then, he made the mistake of looking over at Evanlyn. Her hair, though tangled, curled softly about her shoulders, golden in the firelight, and her eyes shone as she gazed at Horace with admiration. Will felt a sharp pang of jealousy in his gut and had to turn away, wishing Evanlyn would look at him like that. He reminded himself sternly that he should be glad Horace had come along with Halt to rescue them, and volunteered to take first watch as penance.

He'd been sitting at his post for just over an hour when he heard a twig snap behind him and whirled around to see Horace looking at him sheepishly.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized, "I've just been thinking, and I couldn't sleep, so I was wondering if you wanted to spar?"

Will considered this. He could still remember what had happened the last time they'd decided to spar unattended – getting attacked by brigands again was not very high on his to-do list – but he knew the months spent in captivity had taken a heavy toll on his abilities, and the idea of having to make up all that lost work irked him. He rose from his sitting position and grabbed a fallen stick to serve as a weapon. He and Horace moved a little ways away from the camp site: close enough to see anything approaching, but not so near as to wake the sleeping Halt and Evanlyn.

"Ok," Will said, "let's go."

Horace nodded and began a smooth series of backhands, thrusts and side cuts that Will did his best to block and parry. He could tell that his friend had improved greatly since they'd last practiced: Horace moved as if the stick were merely an extension of his own body, calm and always in control, and Will could not help but be slightly envious. He couldn't hold a grudge for long, however, not when Horace kept encouraging him as he corrected Will's footwork or positioning.

"You're doing really well," Horace said, nodding as Will swung his stick up to block a side cut. "Use your wrist more than your whole arm to direct the sword: it uses less energy and makes it easier to block my next attack."

Will was glad for this chance to practice. He could concentrate solely on the movement of his muscles, on the stretch and the thrust as he blocked Horace's swing and stepped in nimbly with a cut of his own. His breathing sounded harsh in his ears and his shirt was damp with sweat, but this was the best he'd felt in months.

Halt found them just as Horace was demonstrating a particularly well-executed butterfly cut that would have had Gilan almost weeping with joy.

"Well, now," he said, gazing at the two panting youths before him, "as much as I would love to commend your initiative, I would have thought you'd learned your lesson after what happened in Celtica. Yes Will," he added, seeing Will open his mouth to ask, "I did hear about those bandits."

"But I thought you'd want me to get back to training as soon as possible," Will pointed out.

"That's true," said Halt, looking his apprentice in the eye, "but you're still recovering from Skandia, and overworking yourself now will only hinder that process."

Will could not argue with the logic of that statement – not when his limbs felt heavy as lead and his bedroll was looking increasingly appealing – so he nodded and turned with Horace to go back to the camp. As he turned, Halt added one last thing: "That said, your swordsmanship may someday approach mediocrity."

Hearing that, Will smiled to himself. It was a compliment of the highest order.


	15. Chapter 14

**AN:** There is a teeny-tiny reference to another masterful 'Ages 9-12' series in here. If you get it, you win the internet and my undying love.

* * *

It was another several days before they reached the easternmost shore of the Narrow Sea. None of them could believe their eyes when they crested a ridge up a steep, forested trail and saw the calm expanse of water spread out before them, sparkling in the midday sun.

Evanlyn gasped. "It's beautiful!"

She glanced over at Halt, staring into the distance, face unreadable as always. "Crossing will take one day at most. So in less than a week –"

"– we'll be home!" Will cut in joyfully, all his previous worries forgotten at the thought hat this nightmare would soon be well and truly over.

Halt said nothing, recalcitrant as ever. He shrunk back into the folds of his cloak, unwilling to meet Will's delighted gaze, full as he was with the knowledge that he was still exiled from his homeland on penalty of death.

If Will drew anything from the sudden shuttered look in his master's eyes, he said nothing, turning instead to face the sea once more, reveling in the fresh tang of salt on the breeze.

Finally, they turned away reluctantly from the entrancing sight and Halt led them into a small grove on the outskirts of La Rivage. Though it was early in the afternoon, Halt signaled for them to stop. Will obeyed, puzzled, and dismounted, waiting for his mentor to explain.

"I know it's still early," Halt said, preempting their questions, "but if we want to reach Araluen as fast as possible, I'll have to go into town to barter passage on the next ferry – even if it may not sail for a couple of days."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to smuggle ourselves on board a merchant vessel?" Will asked.

"It would," Halt agreed, "and if we were on our own, that's exactly what we'd do. But we've got horses with us," Will's eyes widened fractionally in understanding, "and very few merchant vessels are equipped to take on five horses."

"So," he continued, rubbing his hands together, "this evening, while you set up camp, I get to be a tourist."

Will, who had become attuned to Halt's dry sense of humour, was hard pressed not to laugh at the thought of Halt touring anywhere without scaring the life out of someone. Horace simply shrugged and started to unpack his bedroll, recognizing that his skill with a sword probably wouldn't be the best thing for inconspicuous bartering. But Evanlyn looked hard at Halt and frowned.

"You'll need help," she said, addressing Halt. The Ranger raised an eyebrow for her to continue. "I mean, the type of vessel you're describing – one that will carry five horses and their riders besides – that's a ship for the upper class. And, no offense or anything, but your outfit," here, she gestured to his unkempt beard and his dusty clothing stained and tattered from long months on the road, "isn't exactly reminiscent of a well-to-do lord's."

"And how do you propose to deal with that problem?" Halt asked, probing to see if this princess was as resourceful as she was observant.

He was not disappointed. "I'll be your spoiled niece," she said promptly, and grinned. "After all, it's not like I haven't had plenty of practice."

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she affected a simpering, plaintive tone that made Horace cringe and set Will's teeth on edge. "But Uncle, I don't _want_ to see Araluen! It's so cold there, and grey, and it rains all the time! My new mink cloak will be simply _ruined_! Uncle!"

"That's not bad," Halt conceded, "but it's worthless unless you can do it in Gallic."

Evanlyn raised an eyebrow, mirroring Halt's earlier actions. "That sounds like a challenge, _mon oncle_."

Halt considered. Her accent was flawless, as was only proper for a princess who had studied under the best tutors in the realm, and she was certainly a passable actress. She was also a quick thinker, he noted; hers was the exact plan he himself had concocted earlier that day. He nodded slightly. Evanlyn's lips curved upward and she turned to rummage in her saddlebags. "I know Paüla put a presentable skirt in here somewhere…"

* * *

Dusk was settling in, the indigo sky shot with stars, when Halt and Evanlyn returned from the town. Will jumped up the greet them.

"How did it go?"

Halt swung down easily from his saddle and led Abelard over to the other horses, saying nothing. Will turned to Evanlyn.

"Well?"

She grinned at him, green eyes crinkling at the corners. "C'était un succès!"

Will couldn't help but grin back. "What does that mean?"

"It means," said a testy voice from behind them, "that I hope you have a meal going because I haven't eaten yet and supper is important!"

Will had to duck his head to hide another grin. Halt was cranky when he got hungry!

Scant minutes later, the group was sitting around a small fire as Halt relayed the news.

"The captain of a ship called the _Lud Limbo_ has graciously granted us passage to Araluen." He paused. "Or he might have told me that purple is not my colour – hard to tell, really."

Sandwiched between Horace and Will, Evanlyn choked on her stew.

"At any rate," Halt went on, completely deadpan, "the _Lud Limbo_ leaves tomorrow morning, just after sunrise. I suggest we make an early night of it."

They rose the next morning while the earth was still swathed in darkness. After a hurried breakfast of cold bread and cheese, Evanlyn packed the bedrolls while Will and Horace saddled the horses and Halt carefully erased any signs of their presence.

The ride into town was mercifully short: after months away from Tug, Will felt like he was learning how to ride all over again, though the weeks on the road had certainly done a good job of toughening him up. La Rivage was quiet at this hour: the wooden shutters of the houses were fastened tight against the early morning chill, and no one stirred as the group trotted by on the cobblestones. The docks, however, were like a whole other world, abuzz with movement and noise though the sky was still hung with pearly mist and sunup wasn't for at least another hour yet. Everywhere Will turned, people were shouting and rushing, throwing up rigging for mainsails and hauling out nets for the day's catch. This clamour was augmented by the low hiss of the salty breeze, the creak of timber and the cries of the gulls that circled restlessly about the horizon.

Halt led them through the teeming mass of activity to a dock at the far end of the harbour, signalling for Will and Horace to act their parts as the help Halt – now Monsieur Arratay – had "hired" for his niece, Evanlyn. It was not long before a tall, bespectacled man – Will assumed he was captain of the _Lud Limbo_ – bustled up to them and engaged in a brief conversation with Halt. The Ranger sat up straight in his saddle, Evanlyn pouting at his side, and gestured dismissively at Will and Horace. The captain nodded and Will saw Halt slip him a gold coin as they were herded onto the ship.

It wasn't until Will dismounted on the deck of the _Lud Limbo, _amidst a forest of masts, coils of rope and the groaning of the planks that the reality of the situation caught up with him. The last time he'd been on boards a boat, he'd been a captive of fierce Skandian warriors, sailing a wolfship across the Stormwhite Sea in the midst of a raging hurricane. Will fought down a vicious wave of nausea at the memory, feeling the deck pitch alarmingly under his feet. Seeing his face grow pale, Evanlyn came to stand beside him.

"What's wrong?"

Will waited until he felt he could open his mouth without vomiting. To his credit, his voice only shook slightly as he said, "I – uh. Crossing the Stormwhite Sea with the Skandians kind of ruined sailing for me."

Evanlyn squeezed his hand quickly. "That's alright," she said, pitching her voice low so as not to blow their cover. "Even brave Rangers are allowed a little bit of seasickness."

Then, her face lit up. "Come on. Halt and Horace are setting up the cabins and I know something that will take your mind off things."

She started off down a ramp, into the ship's belly. Will followed, leading Tug, his stomach now flip-flopping for entirely different reasons. She thought he was brave!

When Will's eyes adjusted to the gloom of the ship's interior, he saw why Halt had insisted on such an expensive ship. The sweet, damp smell of hay floated up from the mounds strewn over the floor and the bales stacked against the walls of the large chamber they were in. But the strangest thing about the place – aside from the fact that it was apparently a miniature stable in the middle of the ship – was the array of curtain-like contraptions affixed to the ceiling by pulleys and ropes.

"Those are for the horses," Evanlyn said, gesturing to one such sheet that dangled just about the floor.

Will didn't see how such a contraption would help a horse at all, and said so, unconsciously gripping Tug's reins tighter. The little horse nudged his hand softly.

"Come here."

Dutifully, Will led Tug over to where Evanlyn stood, holding the bottom corner of the curtain in her hand. Tug stood still as she drew the fabric under his stomach, width-wise between his front and back legs.

"Now comes the hard part," she said, picking up a hefty metal hook and slipping it into a copper-reinforced hole at the edge of the curtain. The hook was attached to a rope that fed through a gated pulley in the ceiling.

"Stay here," Evanlyn said, shoving the curtain-and-hook into Will's hands. "I'm going to find a crew member."

She headed briskly back up the ramp, leaving Will alone to study the room more. A closer inspection of the curtain revealed that it was woven from thick, strong thread and would not easily tear or stretch. He also noted that if someone pulled on the rope attached to the hook, the curtain currently puddled on the floor around Tug's hooves would rise, acting as a hammock for the barrel-chested horse. He didn't get to speculate for long, however, as Evanlyn returned quickly with a burly sailor in tow.

"Monsieur," she said to the sailor in Gallic, eyeing him imperiously, "il faut que tu m'aides. Mon cheval…"

She trailed off, flipping a hand to indicate Tug. The sailor grunted and brushed past Will to grab the rope that descended from the pulley. Will stumbled out of the way as the man began to pull on the rope, causing it to move through the pulley and pull the curtain snug around Tug's middle. When the horse's hooves were resting lightly on the planks and most of his weight was supported by the sling, the sailor tied off the rope on a metal hook protruding from the floor. The gating mechanism on the pulley also helped keep the rope from sliding back and loosening Tug's hammock.

"J'ai quatres autres chevals aussi," Evanlyn said, a clear dismissal, and the man left, disappearing up the ramp.

"He's gone to get the other horses," she explained, once they were again alone. "So you see, now the sling keeps Tug from supporting his own weight, so if the ship pitches and rolls…"

"He won't get hurt or frightened," Will finished, nodding. "And there's hay for him to eat."

Evanlyn hesitated before answering. "My father took me on boats like these sometimes, when I was little."

Will noticed her hesitation. "You miss him, don't you?"

Evanlyn hung her head, green eyes downcast. "Yes," she whispered. "Very much."

Will reached out tentatively and put a hand on her shoulders. At first, he thought she might shrug him off, remembering what his hands had done to the Temujai, but she simply quietened under his touch and sniffed, dragging a hand across her face to wipe her eyes.

"He'd – he will be very proud of you, you know. You're very brave. And we're almost there. You'll be reunited in a few days."

Evanlyn gave him a watery smile. "Thank you, Will," she said, gently touching his hand. He let it fall from her shoulder. "You're right. We're almost there."

Will smiled in return, stooping to collect Tug's saddle and accessories, hoisting them into his arms. Evanlyn opened her mouth to offer help, but remembered her role as the spoiled niece just as the sailor returned with the other horses in tow. She smiled sheepishly at Will, who grimaced in return, and they headed back up the ramp.

They found Halt and Horace in the small, cramped, box-like room that served as a cabin. Will noticed that all the saddlebags were there, but aside from the food supplies, nothing had been unpacked.

"A sailor is seeing to the horses," Will replied, in response to Halt's unasked question. "And I brought Tug's gear up. Did you know they have an entire stable below deck?"

At Horace's inquisitive look, he continued. "There're mountains of hay down there for the horses to eat, and they have these contraptions – they look like giant grey curtains…" Will described with gusto the process involved in securing a horse for the journey, his eyes lighting up as he recalled the strange sight. Horace was an equally appreciative audience, and once Will's explanation was complete, it was concluded that the two boys would have to explore the chamber at the first opportunity.

When Will had finished, Halt held up his hand. "I spoke with the captain. We're setting sail as we speak, and he expects it should take us no more than twelve hours to reach Araluen – ten if we're lucky."

He paused to let the words sink in. It was Horace who voiced the thought that was on everyone's mind. "You mean we could be home in less than twelve hours?"

Halt snorted. "Not a chance. After we dock, there will still be a ways to go. It should take us about two days to reach Castle Araluen assuming a quick pace and no setbacks. From there -" He stopped, unable to reveal that, for him, his presence at the castle would mean a premature meeting with the gallows.

"Once we reach the castle, I can arrange an urgent meeting with my father," Evanlyn declared.

"Yes," said Halt, "you can tell him everything."

"What do you mean, 'you'?" Will cut in, glancing at Halt. "You're going to be there too."

"No, I won't," Halt said gravely, dark eyes unreadable. "I'm in exile."

"What?" A shocked cry was torn from Will's throat. Beside him, Horace fidgeted uncomfortably, having been sworn to secrecy months previously.

Halt sighed. "Did it ever occur to you to wonder why the King had miraculously given me leave to chase my apprentice halfway across the earth, when anyone with an ounce of sense could see I was needed in Araluen?"

"Well… n-no," Will stuttered. In all the excitement of being reunited with Halt, he hadn't thought to ask about the circumstances surrounding the mysterious Ranger's journey. "But Evanlyn is, well… you know… and you came, didn't you, so I figured the King had given you leave."

Halt shook his head. "What is one of the key statements of the Corps.?"

"Personal isn't the same thing as important," Will recited as if by rote. "But –"

"There was no way Duncan would have simply shrugged and let me head off on what was mostly likely to prove a wild goose chase. I know, I tried everything. The treason was a last resort."

"Treason?" Evanlyn gasped.

Halt gave her a mocking smile. "Don't worry – it wasn't lasting. But apparently I can't hold my liquor as well as I thought I could. You know, of course, that slander of the King's name is punishable by exile from the realm."

Will paled in the dim light of the cabin as the words sank in. "But Halt, exile is permanent! You can't ever go back!" Desperation coloured his voice.

"Not necessarily," Halt corrected, "although that's usually the case. Thankfully, Duncan has been my friend for years and was unwilling to subscribe to such an outdated tradition. I'm banned from Araluen soil for one year, on pain of death."

Silence reigned in the windowless room for a long moment after Halt had spoken. It was Evanlyn who spoke up, a shrewd look in her eye.

"Well, you can't just leave us to fend for ourselves in the Araluen wilderness," she said, staring at Halt. Will started to protest but stopped as something occurred to him.

"You won't be alone," Halt replied. "Will is my apprentice and Horace is a Battleschool trainee. In theory, you'll be quite secure."

This argument held no sway with Evanlyn, however. "You said it yourself: the realm is unstable after the war. I'm the sole heir to the throne. It would be an act of even greater treason not to do everything in your power to ensure my safety, even if that conflicts with your previous orders – especially after Ragnak's Vallasvow."

"You'll be the one to tell your father that, I presume," Halt murmured.

"Of course," Evanlyn blinked. "Does that mean you're coming?"

Halt's only response was a slight nod of his head. The girl would make a fine queen someday, he thought.

"Excellent!" Evanlyn beamed and Will let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I was worried I'd have to pull rank on you, and frankly, I'd rather not."

The company sat for several minutes in a pleasurable silence, listening to the groaning of the ship's timbers as she set sail. The cabin was cramped, stuffy and poorly lit; but Will could smell the lingering scent of hay on his clothes, and he was surrounded by people he loved, filled with a contentment not even the ceaseless rocking of the boat could shake. But one thought niggled at him and he was uncharacteristically silent as Horace passed out rations of bread and dried meat that would serve as their lunch.

"Halt," he said, once the food had been eaten and Horace and Evanlyn were off exploring the upper deck, "if you were needed so much back home, then why not send Gilan or someone else to search for us? Not that Gilan's not important, obviously," he amended hastily.

Backlit by the single flickering torch, it was impossible to read Halt's

expression.

"You're my apprentice," he said firmly and left it at that.


	16. Chapter 15

Just over eleven hours later, the _Lud Limbo_ bumped gently into the dock at Araluen's main harbour. Its passengers spilled out into the twilit sky, glad for a chance to finally stretch their legs without the ground undulating beneath their feet. Their respite was short, however, for as soon as they were safely on solid ground, Halt insisted they start riding inland and looking for a place to camp.

"I'll take first watch," he rumbled after they had unpacked and rubbed down their horses. There was no need for a fire because the night air was warm: spring had truly come to Araluen. "You should all get a good night's sleep; if we want to reach Castle Araluen as quickly as possible, we'll need to ride hard."

Halt made good on his promise. The next day passed in a blur of scraggly forests, giving way to sweeping fields and, finally, to verdant farmland. As time passed, the view became more and more familiar, and Will felt his spirits rise every time he glimpsed a well-remembered hunter's trail or a particular mossy rock, as if they were old friends. Even the puffy grey clouds looming overhead seemed to welcome him back, and as they pulled off the dusty road into a densely wooded glade, Will estimated they were no more than a handful of kilometres from Castle Araluen.

"We'll wait here until dusk," Halt said as they unsaddled their horses and brought out meal rations. (Will privately thought that perhaps one of the best things about coming home would be the chance to eat food that didn't taste like worn leather.) "That way, fewer people will be around to see us as we enter the castle."

"But the people are all subjects of the realm," Horace pointed out reasonably. "Even if anyone recognized Cas- Evanlyn, why should they care?"

"They may not," Halt acknowledged, "but if word got out that the Princess had been captured by the Skandians – or worse – then even rumours of her presence here will cause complications that no one needs at this point, least of all the royal family."

So they waited.

The hours spent waiting for dusk to fall were the longest, Horace felt, in recorded history. Halt had forbidden them from sparring, wary of the noise and Will's weakened state, so the apprentices and Evanlyn simply sat around the empty fire pit, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

Horace polished his sword studiously, to give himself something to do; he sensed any attempt at conversation would not be taken well right now. Beside him, Evanlyn was methodically peeling strips of bark off the log she was sitting on: it gave her an outlet for the restless, jangling energy flooding her veins. She swallowed nervously and looked up at the sky, trying not to think about the short distance that separated her from her father's arms. A thick worm of guilt curled in her belly as she thought about the terrible toll her kidnap must have taken on Duncan. The image of her father weeping, shoulders bowed, sprung into her mind, and the guilt flared until it was almost a physical pain. Evanlyn had to bite her lip, struggling not to cry. _I've lived through this much_, she told herself sternly, ducking her head so no one would see her momentary weakness, _I can hold out for a few more hours_. The thought of being reunited with Duncan in mere hours sent frissons of excitement racing down her spine and she looked anxiously at the sky again. Dusk couldn't come fast enough.

Will, meanwhile, was thinking the exact opposite. He'd been getting increasingly more pensive as they approached Castle Araluen, and now felt as though time was veritably flying past him. Despite Halt's reassurance, he couldn't shake the feeling that once Crowley or any other official found out about the warmweed or the Temujai, he would be expelled from the Corps. on the spot and be executed, or – and this possibility was almost worse – forced to return to Redmont Fief in disgrace. Furthermore, he realized, King Duncan would need to be told about the Vallasvow sworn by the Skandian Oberjarl Ragnak, and Will could bet his finest arrows that the king would not receive this news with a smile and a slap on the shoulder. Shaking his head, Will took several deep breaths to calm himself, but his imagination kept presenting him with dreadful What-if scenarios, each more ludicrous and dreadful than the last. By the time the first starts were appearing in the sky, he was as close to a nervous wreck as he had ever been, but doing his best not to show it.

Shadows lay thick across the land as Halt drew up the cowl of his dappled Ranger's cloak and gestured for them to mount up. Will muffled Tug's hooves with bits of sacking as Horace, Halt and Evanlyn did the same. No words were needed as the party rode into the cool night, cloaks pulled high as they headed for the castle. The ride through the town was remarkably quiet – the few people they encountered never spared an eye for the obviously roughshod travellers winding their way through the narrow streets.

Will looked up as they neared the castle, too well-trained to whistle to himself, but stunned by its magnificence nonetheless. Even in the dark, the castle cut an impressive figure, pressing straight up towards the faintly glimmering stars. He tried to take in every detail of the architecture, from the broad crenellations on the towers to the spellbinding flying buttresses that seemed to defy gravity, to the intricately wrought flowers and leaves adorning the iron gates that marked entrances for lesser traffic. They rode through one such gate and found themselves in a small courtyard near the rear of the majestic castle. Dismounting silently, Will immediately saw why Halt had chosen this entrance instead of the more popular main thoroughfare: it was patrolled far less frequently by guards and would allow them easier access to the castle's interior.

"_Arretez_," Will whispered to Tug the code word for the little horse to stay where he was, and then crept after Halt into the castle.


	17. Chapter 16

Lord Anthony of Spa, chamberlain to King Duncan for over fifteen years, had been planning on having a quiet night. He had planned on pulling up his comfiest chair, pouring himself a glass of spiced wine, and leafing through the various reports that had collected on his desk during the day. He had not planned on being attacked as soon as he'd entered his chambers, by an unseen stranger of brute strength. Nor had he planned on being shoved face-first up against the cold stone wall with the stranger's hand over his mouth and the prickle of a knife against his ribs, felt even though the rich fabric of his tunic. He hadn't planned on revealing Duncan's current whereabouts, and he certainly hadn't planned on being frog-marched down the hall to the King's private chambers where an official meeting had been in progress since early afternoon. But the stranger was strong, and had brought cohorts with him, if the multiple sets of footsteps trailing them down the corridor were any indication. So when his captor growled in his ear: "You will announce us", well, he really had no choice. Lord Anthony was not a fighting man.

"Who – whom am I announcing?" he croaked as he was pressed into the solid oak of the door to the King's chambers, the knife still tickling his ribcage.

"Me," said the voice, and Anthony was spun around to stare into the deep-set eyes of the legendary Ranger Halt.

"And my companions," Halt finished, nodding at the three cloaked figures behind him.

"H-Halt," Anthony breathed, feeling sweat dampen the collar of his tunic. "But Duncan –"

"I know. But what I have to say to His Majesty is of the utmost importance to both himself and the realm of Araluen."

Anthony considered Halt's words. He knew that the friendship between Duncan and Halt extended for twenty years and was not something the Ranger would take lightly. But, then again, who knew what exile could do to a man? He factored into his calculations the King's present company and the knife still poking into his side.

"Very well," he said, mouth dry, and knocked on the heavy wooden door. "Milord, it's Anthony."

King Duncan looked up from his discussion as his chamberlain entered, looking rather too flustered for Duncan's liking.

"What is it, Anthony?" he asked, blue eyes sharp as steel.

"Majesty, you have visitors."

Duncan frowned, deepening the faint lines on his forehead. "What? At this time of night? My orders expressly forbade any interruptions."

Anthony twitched. "If I may, sire? I know it is not my place, but I do think Your Highness should receive these particular persons."

Duncan sighed. "Very well. Send them in, if you must."

* * *

Outside the meeting room, Evanlyn took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Catching her eye, Halt gave her an encouraging nod, and she straightened up as Lord Anthony gestured for them to enter.

"We'll be fine," Evanlyn said, with a confidence she didn't feel. Swallowing nervously, she led the way in.

King Duncan was sitting at a large circular table, his back to the door, when Evanlyn entered, leading Halt, Will and Horace. Evanlyn recognized Crowley, Commandant of the Ranger Corps. seated with Duncan, as well as the Ranger Gilan, and her heart gave a leap of joy. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her so they wouldn't shake, and waited for the king to address them, as was proper.

"Hail and well met," Duncan said, turning and squinting slightly to make out their faces in the flickering glow of the torches. "What brings you here at such an hour?"

Heart pounding fit to burst out of her chest, Evanlyn exhaled shakily and pulled back the cowl of her cloak, letting it fall to her shoulders so her face could be seen clearly in the light.

King Duncan almost fell out of his seat. Crowley almost fell out of his seat. Gilan really did fall out of his seat, slipping to the flagstones with a clatter that only amplified the tension in the air. And then: "Father!" Evanlyn cried out at the same time as Duncan's "Cassandra!" echoed through the room. They surged together, and as they embraced, it was hard to tell who was shedding more tears of happiness.

Will felt tears prickling at the back of his own eyes at this touching display, and so oriented his gaze on where Crowley and Gilan were staring at him in open amazement and incredulousness. He grinned helplessly, suddenly giddy, and the next thing he knew, long arms were around him and his face was squished into Gilan's chest as the taller Ranger enveloped him in a bear hug. Laughing, Will hugged him back.

Halt's voice cut through his laughter. "Gilan."

Puzzled by his mentor's stern tone, Will pulled back to defend his friend, but stopped when he realized there were tears trailing down Gilan's cheeks.

"Gilan," said Halt again, softly, and the lanky Ranger moved to hug his former teacher, looking for all the world like a lost child who had finally found his parent.

Will shot a confused look at Horace, who raised his eyebrows in reply. _I don't know, either_. Then the moment passed and Gilan was moving to hug Horace. Crowley came forward to stand before Halt and the two men looked each other in the eye, saying nothing, as if they didn't need words to communicate. Crowley gripped Halt's forearm in a casual manner – but Will, watching them surreptitiously, saw Crowley's fingers clench and knew the grip must be hard enough to bruise. Clasping Crowley's forearm, Halt responded in kind, and a curious silent understanding passed between them.

"I should have guessed," Crowley murmured when they parted.

Halt inclined his head and Crowley moved to clap Will and Horace on the shoulder.

Eventually, everyone settled down around the wooden table.

"Now," said Duncan, squeezing Evanlyn's hand – but she was Cassandra now, Will remembered. "Please tell me what has happened during these dreadful months."

Silence fell around the table as everyone looked to Will. The young apprentice looked down at his hands and licked his lips nervously. Then, he felt a warm weight on his shoulder and looked up to see Halt nodding encouragement at him. He began.

"Morgarath was building this bridge…"


	18. Chapter 17

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that the story was finally complete. Duncan stared thoughtfully into space while his guests nibbled on a platter of fruit and cheese that had been brought in partway through the telling. At last, he summoned Lord Anthony and rattled off a list of appointments and ceremonies that would need to take place over the coming days. The Chamberlain nodded feverishly.

"And we'll also have to do something about your banishment," Duncan mused, inclining his head towards Halt.

Halt met Duncan's gaze squarely. "Majesty, I would like to apologize for the slanderous remarks I made against your person –"

Duncan cut him off impatiently. "Halt, in God's name –"

"I haven't moved," said Halt.

"Sire, you shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain," Anthony tried to interject.

"Goddammit, you know what I meant! I know why you said those things and I know you didn't mean them. You don't have to apologize to me. And the fact that you used your term in exile to go on a courageous quest to rescue your apprentice and my daughter is worth enough to rescind the ban – especially since most of it has been served. Don't you think so, Lord Anthony?"

It was phrased as a question, but that was a formality and they all knew it. Anthony spluttered. "Ah, well, I. I suppose, given the evidence… possibly… I am sure there is a bylaw somewhere, sire."

"Yes, I thought so, said Duncan mildly. "At the very least, I can grant you official pardon of the King for the time being, until the necessities have been seen to. Though really, this act makes all of you heroes to the realm – especially you, Will."

Will felt himself flush. "I – I thank you, Your Majesty," he stammered, unsure of what to say. Him? A hero?

"We should have a decoration ceremony to celebrate that," Duncan continued.

Thinking of himself buried among all that pomp and circumstance, Will tried not to flinch. "I… greatly appreciate your consideration, sire," he began hesitantly, "but there's really no need."

"Nonsense," Duncan scoffed. "Of course you'll be recognized."

In a flash, Will remembered something Baron Arald of Redmont Fief had told him. "Your Majesty, I cannot possibly accept. You see, that's, uh, that's… not the Ranger way."

Crowley choked on his drink and Gilan burst out laughing. Halt raised one eyebrow very, very dangerously, and Will reminded himself that heroes did not sink under the table.

Duncan gave him a peculiar look. "If you insist."

Crowley snorted. "We'll make a Ranger of you yet, Will."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. "You mean I'm still in the Corps.? But what about the warmweed? And – and the Temujai?"

The Ranger Commandant shook his head. "What you lived through, what you did required more courage and fortitude than most fully-fledged Rangers have to offer. Of course you're still in the Corps." He raised an eyebrow and Will privately wondered if eyebrow-raising was contagious among the upper echelons of the Corps. "Unless you don't want to be."

Shocked, Will shook his head, backpedalling furiously. "No, no – I mean, yes – that is – of _course_ I want to be in the Corps., Crowley! It's –"

He stopped short as he realized Crowley had been teasing him. He glared at the Ranger Commandant. "I would never want to leave the Corps."

"I'm glad to hear it," Crowley replied in all seriousness. Will was suddenly very glad for his chair as he felt his knees go weak with relief. His place in the Corps. was secure. The knowledge that he wouldn't run the risk of being sent to Redmont Fief in disgrace settled across his shoulders like a warm blanket.

The sun was fully up when the meeting in the King's chambers was at last adjourned. Duncan stood, grimacing as his legs and back protested, and gestured for the others to follow suit.

"I'll drop by later," Crowley said to Halt before taking his leave. Gilan nodded to Halt and clapped Will once more on the shoulder before heading after Crowley.

Will turned to face Cassandra, her face pale in the morning sun, though her brilliant green eyes hone with happiness. He felt a tightness in his chest at the thought that they would be parting, likely for a long time. Princesses and Rangers didn't mix, he reflected. Princesses were beautiful, regal, calm and collected. Rangers were… well. He glanced at Halt out of the corner of his eye. Rangers were scruffy, mysterious, and a danger to anyone they were with. The kidnapping had proved that, if nothing else. Will felt a tight ball of misery settle in his stomach. He couldn't think of anything to say.

Horace, it appeared, had no such qualms. Going up to Cassandra, he took her hand and knelt in deference to her station. Cassandra boggled slightly before protesting and pulling Horace to his feet.

"We're friends!" she told him, embracing him tightly. "You don't have to kneel."

"I'm going to miss you, Ev- Cassandra," he told her, looking her in the eye.

Cassandra giggled softly. "Don't be silly, Horace," she said. "You're a knight-in-training. We'll see each other often."

Horace brightened at the thought. "I suppose you're right. In that case, this isn't goodbye – I'll see you around."

"Until next time, then," Cassandra said, and Will felt jealousy flare up inside as she stood on tiptoe to kiss Horace's cheek. The muscular apprentice blushed and ducked his head, grinning as he left the room to wait outside. Halt and Duncan followed suit, talking amiably about the restoration of Araluen after the war. At last, only Will and Cassandra were left.

There was a light touch on his hand. Will looked up in surprise as Cassandra intertwined their fingers. "Cassandra, we can't –"

"I know," she said simply. "But Will, you saved my life."

"You've saved mine too," Will replied quietly. "Many times over."

She inclined her head, the ragged ends of her golden hair brushing her face. His next words were out before Will could process what he was saying. "Cassandra, I need to tell you something."

She looked up, green eyes questioning. Will slowly raised his hands to cup her face, appreciating the fact that they were the same height. Cassandra placed one hand on the back of his neck and drew him in, touching her lips to his own. The kiss was slow and lingering; Will lost himself to the feel of Cassandra's chapped lips, the scent of her skin still streaked with dirt and grime, the curious softness of her hair. He tried to convey everything he felt in that moment, a flood of emotions washing over him, and somehow, she knew. When at last he pulled away, her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she nodded in understanding.

"Goodbye, Cassandra," he said, voice choked with emotion.

"Goodbye, Will," she murmured. "I will always be grateful to you."

"Thank you," he said simply, and bowing, took his leave.


	19. Chapter 18

The ride back to Halt's cottage was completely silent. If Halt knew what had transpired at the castle, he gave no sign of it. When they got home, Will rubbed Tug down and rolled into bed, still fully clothed. He was asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. For the first time in what felt like years, he did not dream.

When he awoke, his boots had been pulled off and left by the door, and a muzzy blue light was filtering in through the curtains. Will estimated that it was just before dawn – he had slept for almost eighteen hours. Rolling out of bed he went to go heat up water for a bath.

Halt, it appeared, was still sleeping, judging by the closed door of his bedroom, so Will took stock of the cabin. It had been abandoned for months on end: the living room rug was dusty, the pots in the kitchen grimy, and the stove in dire need of more firewood. He wasn't normally one for housework, but figured it would at least serve as a distraction from his thoughts about Cassandra. Not to mention, Halt would probably tell him to do it anyway, once he woke up.

"There's no place like home," Will mumbled to himself as he gathered up the pots and headed to the river to start scouring.

Halt awoke around mid-morning, shaved, dressed, and went to check on Will. There was a moment of sharp worry when his apprentice was not in the cabin, but a quick inspection showed that Will was on the verandah, beating out the living room rug. _Things are shaping up nicely_, Halt thought, and went to go make breakfast.

A few days later, Will was practicing his marksmanship behind the cabin when something made him pause. He walked nonchalantly over to the tree where his most recent arrow was embedded and looked around, under the guise of working the arrow out of the bark. There! A few meters away, grass sprung back into position after being trodden on. Will was now an expert at detecting people trying to move unseen, so he whistled as he collected his arrows and moved back toward the cabin, keeping an eye out for more signs. Leaves a few paces to his left rustled though there was no breeze: only a Ranger could be so skilled as to remain unseen at such close quarters. Will casually nocked an arrow on his bowstring. Closer to the cabin, more leaves rustled, and Will let instinct take over. Sighting and drawing his bow in one fluid movement, Will let fly his arrow. It thudded soundly into a tree not five meters from the cabin wall.

"Alright, alright!" said a voice as Crowley materialized from behind an adjacent tree. "I suppose I should know better than to try and sneak up to Halt's cabin by now."

"Probably," Will grinned at him.

"What do you want?" asked Halt, prickly as ever, when Crowley followed Will into the cabin.

"You wound me with your words," Crowley protested, feigning hurt. Will snorted and went to put on coffee as the Commandant dropped into a seat across the table from Halt. "Can't an old friend drop by to visit without being shot at and maligned?"

"An old friend, yes. You, not so much," Halt replied, and gave Crowley a considering look. "You tried to sneak up on Will?"

Crowley nodded. "And almost got an arrow in the chest for my troubles. He's a sharp one, that boy."

"He is," Halt agreed, gaze flicking toward the kitchen.

Will re-entered with coffee in hand. "What's going on?" he asked as he poured the drinks.

Crowley added milk to his mug and sipped appreciatively. "Mmmm. I'm bringing news from the capital. Word on the street is that the princess was taken hostage by the Skandians but one of them defected and enabled her to escape. Other people say that she was brought back by a knight errant, who vanished as soon as he returned her to safety; I even heard one rumour that a Ranger helped her – but of course that's too farfetched." Crowley's eyes crinkled and Will grinned into his coffee.

"Miraculous return of the princess aside," Halt said dryly, "has there been any other news?"

"Not much," Crowley said ruefully. "The court's in a frenzy trying to cope with Cassandra's return – dignitaries from Iberion are expected in a few weeks and everyone's in a kerfuffle about that. Duncan's got contacts in Skandia keeping an eye on Ragnak and the Vallasvow, but apparently there's plenty of political unrest there to keep him occupied. Rumour has it one of his Jarls – Erin? Erak? – is being viewed as a popular successor to the Oberjarl, which is fairly upsetting for him. Not all the Skandians were too keen to be in league with Morgarath, it seems. It also helps that the Stormwhite Sea has been nastier than ever this year, which prevents the from taking their wolfships out too far."

Halt grunted approvingly. "Good."

"Oh, by the way, Will," said Crowley, "earlier today, I was at the castle and one of the Diplomats asked me to give this to you." He handed Will a slim cream envelope stamped with the seal of the Diplomatic Service. Will took it, puzzled, until he realized that there was only one person with the Diplomats who would know about Halt's cabin: his oldest friend, Alyss Mainwaring. Eagerly, he slit it open and read:

_Dearest Will,_

_It has been too long since I've had the pleasure of your company. I hear you are recently returned to Araluen, and was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the Spring Festival this coming weekend. Much has happened since we last spoke, and I'm sure you have many stories to tell as well._

_I intend to be at the Merchant's Gate for most of the morning, but can arrange to meet wherever is most convenient._

_Please let me know what you decide. _

_Your friend,_

_Alyss_

Will looked up from the letter. "Halt," he said slowly, "what are the chances of me attending the Spring Festival this weekend?"

Halt gave him a level look. "I don't know. What are the chances of all the chores being done before you go?"

Will grinned in answer. "I can also take advantage of the Festival to buy more spices and food," he said, knowing how Halt enjoyed a good meal.

"Now you're on the right track," Halt said. "Are you meeting Alyss Mainwaring?"

"Yes," replied Will in some surprise. "How did you know?"

Halt shrugged. "I accompanied her on a diplomatic mission while you were with Gilan and Horace in Celtica."

"Ah." Will was going to get the details of that! Then something occurred to him. "Will I be able to tell her about what happened in Skandia?"

Halt glanced at Crowley, who answered. "I don't see why not. As a Diplomat, Lady Mainwaring is often privy to confidential information, which she is under oath not to reveal to anyone. Rather like Rangers, in a way. This shouldn't be that different."

"Excellent!" Will beamed, delighted. Suddenly, his week of field practice and chores was looking much more appealing. He was still smiling as he cleared the coffee cups and went down to the river to refill the cabin's water supply.

"Speaking of reunions," Crowley said as Halt watched Will fill up the large water barrel outside the cabin, "there's something I still have to give to you."

Halt looked at his long-time friend curiously. "That being…?"

"Here," Crowley reached up and unclasped one of two silver chains around his throat. Halt felt his breath catch as Crowley held out the silver Oakleaf, letting it pool into his outstretched palm. "This one is yours. Welcome home, Halt."

Fastening the Oakleaf around his neck, Halt felt tears prick his eyes. It was such a trifling thing, but his time without the Oakleaf – his time of exile from the Corps. – had been a bitter, painful one. His vision blurred as he traced the familiar outline of the amulet. "Thank you."

"It was the least I could do," Crowley said, staring out the window to the setting sun. "I'm glad you're back, Halt."

Halt gazed across the yard to where Will was heading back to the cabin with, humming to himself. He felt a sense of peace suffuse his mind, satisfied that his apprentice was safe and all was at last right with the world. He smiled at his friend.

"So am I."

FIN.


End file.
